This great man amassed a fortune; from very scanty sources. It appears he had a huge labour force in the Bombay dockyards, and probably other businesses, as his colorful and lavish lifestyle attests to a considerably huge fortune.
In his later years, with some back problems, he is said to have ordered a custom built Rolls Royce with a high roof, so he could get in without bending! At a charity even in UK, he became the highest bidder for the donation sought from the wealthy persons gathered there, and got to plant a kiss on the forehead of the famous actress Greta Garbo!
The statue of a famous British general at the entrance of Edinburg Castle in Scotland, one Earl Haig, was erected there from his donation. He was obviously a well-known donor then, both in India and abroad, but little is now known because he never organised his charities. But Parsis seem to have forgotten his greatest singularly exemplary service to the Parsi community at a time of crisis. It makes for interesting reading:
When King George V visited India, (Dec. 1911) the Parsis, much against the general declaration by a majority of Indians to boycott the event, went to welcome the King. This caused great anger amongst people in Bombay, and started a riot against the Parsi community.The riot lasted for several days, and angry crowds threatened to forcibly enter various Fire temples to cause damage, and knowing the Parsis do not allow entry to others. Sir Dhunjibhoy Bomanji rose to the occasion and ordered his dockyard labour force along with all those Zoroastrians, especially those Parsis then engaged in manual jobs, thus tough men, to protect the temples from looting and desecration. He provided them with necessary arms allowed to civilians then, probably bamboo sticks and other defensive items, and food and provisions to stand guard at the various Fire Temple entrances.
He would personally tour all the temples throughout Bombay, at night, taking along the Police Commissioner with him. The temples were safeguarded and no fire or damages by rioting crowds on account of the arrangements made by this great man. Today, very few Parsis’ remember him.*
When the Prince of Wales (later King Edward VIII, who abdicated the throne) landed in Bombay on 17th November, 1921. At that time Mahatma Gandhi had given a call to boycott all official functions connected with the Prince’s visit. This was one time that Hindu and Muslims were together!
Over the centuries after we landed in India, the Parsis believed in owing their allegiance to who ever were in power. Accordingly, they believed it was their moral obligation to welcome the Prince.
Boy Scout groups were in vanguard and Parsi ladies also took
Sir Dhunjibhoy Bomanji & Lady Dhunjibhoy Bomanji leading part in welcoming the monarch. Naturally, this was not
palatable with the satyagrahis and they began targeting Parsi Institutions and businesses.
Since they believed that the most sacred institutions to the Parsis were their Fire Temple’s; they started attacking them! At that time there were about six Parsi crorepathis (very rich person) and all of them fled Bombay to their summer homes at Khandala, Lonavla, and Mahableshwar etc. But, in stepped a saviour who thought it was his duty to save our Fire Temples as also the Parsi community.
Dhunjibhoy was well known in the Bombay social circle at that time, so he immediately requested the Police Commissioner to provide armed police personnel to guard our Fire Temples. The Police Commissioner declined saying the full Police Force were on Bandobast duty for the Prince’s visit. He however agreed to provide for arms and amunation. Ultimately, Dhunjibhoy took up on himself to the task to arrange for providing security at Fire Temples, especially in the Grant Road area. Old timers recall that in the Dhobi Talao area were all our Atash Behrams were situated, he had arranged with the Irani restaurant owners (i.e. Alfred, Kyani, and Bastani) to provide food to all Parsi stalwarts who were stationed at the Atash Behrams with arms, at his own expense. A few Parsis were killed. These were the last major riots where Parsis were participants. It is one chapter in Parsi history that the community has chosen to forget. Mahatma Gandhi was ashamed of the action of the people and went on a fast.
A valiant hero of the Parsi community has passed into history unsung. Today, whatever we Parsis are is because of Dhanjibhoy’s courage & gallantry.
If you love Iranian/Parsi food, then you gotta watch this video, right now! Our team has curated the best 7 places in Mumbai where you can try out authentic Iranian and Parsi food, and at the same time, experience their culture and history! Mumbai is home to many legendary outlets that have been serving Iranian cuisine. Most of these outlets have vintage vibes, minimal decor, and history attached to it. It is a must-try for all Mumbaikars to check these places out, try out this delicious food and experience the vibes!
Here’s your checklist: 1) Jimmy Boy – Fort Mutton Gravy Cutlet – Rs 320/- 2) Kyani & Co. – Marine Lines Akuri Toast and Irani Chai – Rs 80/- 3) Britannia & Co – Ballard Estate Mutton Berry Pulao – Rs 870/- 4) Yazdani – Fort Brun Maska and Masa Puff – Rs 60/- 5) Cafe Military – Fort Beer – Rs 170/- 6) Sassanian – Dhobi Talao Chicken Dhansak and Rice – Rs 170/- 7) Ideal Corner – Fort Patrani Fish – Rs 200/- K Rustom & Co. – Churchgate Ice Cream Biscuits!
Farokh Shokri sits at a table distant from the cash counter but directly opposite so as not to miss any transactions. With a snowy mane and a friendly demeanor, Farokh seems to have just finished his breakfast when we meet him, and is looking pensively at his multivitamins and medicines. And at 55, managing Kayani & Co., a restaurant with a legacy can be difficult because he looks slightly stressed while accounting for his bills and supplies.
FAROKH SHOKHRI HANDLES KYANI
He makes it a point to tell us that his name is ‘Farokh’ and not ‘Farooq’ as people always mishear or mispronounce it as. “It’s a more common mistake than you can think. People always end up saying ‘Farooq’, which is usually a Muslim name,” he corrects us.
Old is still bold
Kayani & Co. is known to be one of the oldest restaurants in Mumbai. It has been standing strong, its interiors jovial with engraved darkwood panels for almost 113 years, in a building that evidently looks its age, but sturdy nonetheless. The restaurant is so quaint from the inside, it’s hard to guess what’s oozing the charm – sepia toned pictures of a hundred years old Mumbai, the small bakery section at one corner of the restaurant, the preserved black bentwood chairs or the checkered mats over the square and some round tables all across the café.
Kyani’s, as it is fondly known, was established in 1904 by a gentleman named Khodram Marezban and was taken over in late 1959 by Aflatoon Shokri, Farokh’s father. Since then it’s the Shokri family that has been retaining the restaurant’s glory. Its namesake in Pune, however, is run by a completely different family, Farokh informs us.
Apart from the obvious legacy that the restaurant has inherited, the authenticity of Parsi-style dishes and old Bombay has also been retained here. The cacophony of constant traffic outside makes you aware that you’re in 2017, but it’s very easy to imagine that at one point in time, Kyani restaurant bakery was one of the most important hang-out places for the people of Mumbai. The place still makes a bold statement with the kind of interiors it has preserved.
The glam factor
“I came to know from my father that Shashi Kapoor and M F Hussain were regulars here. They would sit with their bun maska and chai, and kept it to themselves,” Farokh told us. We asked him if he himself had had any encounters with celebrities, “I have had none, but I do remember the stories of these two men that my father told me,” he said.
ANY DISH ORDERED AT KYANI’S IS A CULINARY TREAT – A SIMPLE HALF FRIED EGG AND FRANKFURTERS AND AN OMLET PAV IS WHAT WE FEASTED ON
The charming interior of the place – the high roof and the mezzanine floor is something that simply cannot be ignored. But the other thing that can never be ignored at Kyani’s is the aroma of some really delicious food that is cooked here. It’s a culinary treat in its best form. Be it a cup of chai infused with a generous amount of elaichi, a freshly made Chicken Pattice, a breakfast of Half Fry with Frankfurters, or eating Chicken Tandoori or Kheema Pav, the sheer simplicity of these dishes is what makes them worth chasing after from any part of the city you live in.
Memories and tragedies
The relatively recent outbreak of restaurant franchises in Mumbai have no doubt, gained instant popularity among the youth, but the number of young people – especially couples coming here is surprising. And we’re sure it’s not just the pocket-friendly prices and melt-in-your-mouth bun-maska that lure the youth here, it’s the charisma of the place that brings them here. The round shaped tables, for example, are more than a hundred years old.
CHECKERED MATS ADORN THE TABLES AT KYANI
“We have had to change some of the tables and replace them with square ones because some of them broke down during my father’s time. We have managed to retain some of these though, the ones with Italian marbles-laden over wood,” he smiles and shows us the table where he’s sitting.
And much to our fancy, there are many more of these tables on the mezzanine floor above, which is made accessible only when the floor below gets too crowded.
Kyani’s is almost diagonally opposite to Metro theatre, again a part of the cluster of heritage locations in Mumbai. Being at a prime location has its set of complications as well. Complications lead to stories. One of the stories is the fateful night of 26/11 terrorist attack when the jeep full of terrorists passed from right in front of the bakery. Farokh recalls that it was a close call for them. “The bakery closes at about 9 pm. I remember I was at a wedding that day and saw the chaos that has ensued on TV when I reached home,” he said.
Long live legacy
Farokh says that the reason Irani bakeries and their legacies are slowly fading away is that of the lack of interest of the new generation. “A lot of children from our community have settled abroad, or want to do something else. I took over from my father, but whether or not my children will do the same will depend entirely on them. My daughter’s 19, and son is 13, so they are still too young to make this decision but whatever that may be, I will have to respect that,” he said.
PICTURES OF MUMBAI WHEN IT WAS BOMBAY HANG ON THE WALLS OF THIS QUAINT RESTAURANT
And perhaps that is the one thing most Parsi bakeries are facing – extinction by the gap of generation. Suckers for history and lovers of the good ol’ Bombay will be disappointed if these Irani restaurants cease to continue. And one can only wish that in the era of remakes and revamps, places like Kyani’s are not stripped off its personality and re-wrapped into something God-forbiddingly ‘new’.
Click Here for the full story, with many more pics – http://www.indiatimes.com/news/india/with-113-years-of-legacy-here-s-the-story-of-mumbai-s-popular-kyani-co-bakery-326777.html
#MaskaMaarke: There’s a lot more to Irani Parsi food than bun-maska and berry pulao. This is a rich cuisine that retains its delicious Levantine roots.
(HT Illustration: Sudhir Shetty)
Which community in India celebrates three birthdays for each person and four New Years per annum? It’s the Zoroastrian Irani Parsi community. Every Irani Parsi (and I am going to refer to them as such) celebrates ‘Roj nu Birthday’, which is the Zoroastrian calendar birthday; the Irani calendar birthday; and a regular birthday by the Gregorian calendar.
As if celebrating three birthdays each was not enough, they also celebrate four New Years — Jamshedi Navroz, the Shehenshahi New Year, January 1, and the Kadmi New Year, which has just gone by on July 18.
Kadmi is the Iranian New Year. It’s got something to do with the respective calendars and some wrangling over months or dates. But none of that matters to the Irani Parsis, if it means one more reason to celebrate!
Most Irani Parsis migrated to India in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. They came bearing such time-honoured, euphonious and rhapsodic surnames as Shirazi, Khosravi, Faroodi, Kermani, Dehmiris, Yezdani, Kayani and Jafrabadi. Some of these names you may recognise from Mumbai cafés instituted by members of the community. Cafés named romantically after Iranian traditional surnames, like Yazdani and Kayani, some christened out of obsequiousness to the British like George V, Edward VIII and Britannia, and some made to sound exotic and non-Indian like Cafe De La Paix.
These bakeries and boulangeries that once served French style buns with butter, English mutton sandwiches, samosas, chicken puffs, cream puffs, mawa cakes and tea are now few and far between. Some still stand tall, like Sassanian Bakery and Boulangerie, Kyani & Co (who still makes patties and samosas), Yazdani Bakery who are master bakers, and B Merwan & Co who still bake their world famous mawa cakes.
The Khoresh-e Anjeer ,or chicken stew with dried figs, on offer as part of an Irani festival menu cooked up by Perzen Patel and Subhashree Basu.
Today, the most Mumbaiites know of Irani food begins at bun maska-chai and ends with berry pulao. But there is so much more to the cuisine. Irani Parsi food is vastly different from the Parsi food we are familiar with. The cardinal distinction between the two cuisines is that Parsi food, with its spicy Dhansak, Salli Boti and Patra Ni and Saans ni Macchi, blends Persian, Gujarati and British influences, while Irani Parsi food is milder and meatier, with elements such as eggplant, dry fruit, saffron, beans, and lashings of yogurt, that reflect its Mediterranean and Levantine roots.
Iranian food is essentially a repast of bountiful kinds of Kebabs, Kaftehs, Breads, and Oosh or Ash, which are slow-cooked, thick soups. Khoresh-e Fesenjan (the stew of kings) is the national dish.
I often go to Colbeh, an Iranian mom-and-pop joint, whenever I’m in London. On a wet chilly morning in Porchester Place, a hot roti straight out of the tandoor with chelo khoresh fesenjan, a portion of tender melt-in-the-mouth Kabab Koobideh (chargrilled minced lamb kababs) and a bowl of chilled Mast-O-Khair (strained yogurt dip with cucumber and mint) feels like a warmhearted hug.
Unfortunately, none of the Irani cafés in Mumbai does Iranian food; it’s just a lot of Bread and Breakfast. Even the Berry Pulao at Britannia is eventually little more than some version of a Biryani sprinkled with zereshk or sour berries. Café Universal, another Irani-owned eatery, serves two Persian dishes — Ghormeh Sabzi (vegetables, kidney beans and dried Iranian limes with chicken, mutton or veg) and Gheimeh Bademjan (brinjal and mutton kheema in a tomato sauce), and that’s where it ends.
For the recent Kadmi New Year, Patel and Basu’s takeaway enterprise, Greedy Foods, was also making ‘Land & Sea Koofteh’, meatballs stuffed with seafood, cashews and raisins.
But two women have decided to buck the trend. Perzen Patel (half Irani and half Parsi) and Subhashree Basu (not Irani at all) have been experimenting with Iranian food for a couple of years. At their takeaway enterprise, called Greedy Foods, they have produced Irani festival menus quite successfully. In celebration of Kadmi New Year, they’ve introduced a Persian-influenced menu. Mind you, they are far from traditional, but they do bring together the heart and wisdom of Iranian cooking and the taste and bite of change. If I tell you what they’re cooking this season, you’ll hate me for finishing most of it.
Their menu includes Ash-e Reshteh (also known as Osh-e-Meer, a thick and hearty noodle soup with slow-cooked lentils, greens, mutton and spaghetti); Land & Sea Koofteh (lamb meatballs stuffed with tangy seafood, cashews and raisins); Khoresh-e Anjeer (chicken stew with dried figs) and an Irani Berry Pulao (pulao layered with meat, kebabs and zereshk).
So, I spent the Irani New Year with my Irani friends, Boman Irani and his family, with a song on my lips and a prayer in my heart that they celebrate even more New Years and many more Birthdays, with even more food.
My need to voraciously absorb all odd bits of information was the reason why I used to be good at General Knowledge in school. Parents obviously approved and hence every Sunday night at 9.00 I was allowed to sit through Siddharth Kak-Renuka Shahane hosted Surabhi—a true blue infotainment programme which will strongly be embedded in any ’90s kid. It was here that I had first heard of Navsari and Udvada, the first ports of call for Zorastrians and Parsis into the subcontinent.
Ten years in Mumbai was enough to make my resolve strong to visit Udvada made it a bucket list entry. The plan was put in motion some time last year, but it wasn’t until April this year that the road trip materialised and the calendars of our motley crew of four finally synced and off we went.
I always thought I grew up in a sleepy little town, but Udvada is smaller and sleepier still. As a matter of fact, for most parts it is still just a village but generously sprinkled with mansions and bungalows built by Parsis, thanks to their expedient enterprises. What drew them then and draws them even now is the Iran Shah, a fire temple with oldest continuous fire in the world. Parsi rigidity about their religion forbade us to step inside, we, very happily, made peace with the quaintness.
The highlight, of course, was the food and as luck would have it, it was Bengali New Year and a mighty meal was only fair. Let me be clear, we did not go pillar to post trying out all the famed eateries trying out Parsi fare; we stuck to one place, for both the meals—Cafe Farohar at Sohrabji Jamshedji Sodawaterwalla Dharamshala. We were there only for the day and wanted to go exploring as well.
Parsi food has been on my mind ever since my first taste of Parsi Akoori at Kyani & Co in Kalbadevi. It has been a personal mission to savour as much as possible of the cuisine. Many of these experiences were simply fortuitous, like when I was invited to Anjuman I Islam’s hotel management college to attend a Parsi wedding-themed F&B promotion hosted by their students. The meal was as lavish and as-original-it-could-get and involved my first taste of Patrani Macchi and Lagan Nu Custard. Then there was a wine pairing exercise with Perzen Patel’s The Bawi Bride, which was the beginning of my love affair with Talera Boomla.
Cafe Farohar will be another indelible memory in my annals of Parsi food. Amongst the four of us, the table was full with food. Everything from Chicken Farcha to Boi Fry was ordered and washed down by local Sunta Raspberry Soda. As we devoured our Mutton Pulao Dar and Prawn Dhandar Patio we mourned that we couldn’t order more. Instinctively and unanimously, it was decided that we were coming back here for dinner. Our luck also favoured us as a local sancha ice-cream seller in his rickety autorickshaw dropped by, serving the most amazing hand-churned mango ice cream.
As a hardcore pescatarian, it was the Boi Fry that stole my heart. Indian White Mullet, locally called Boi, fresh from the shores, was lathered in Parsi masala mix, the secret to which omni-present Auntie Hilla wouldn’t part with (she and her son, Shehzad, run the cafe and manage the Dharamshala), and the delicate meat cooked to flaky perfection. Finishing that fish, head to tail, was the most satisfying part of the meal!
As we roamed around the little lanes of Udvada, we came across an old lady selling fresh Parsi chai masala—peppermint, mint, lemongrass and lemon. I picked up a bundle of peppermint; using it in tea seemed far-fetched so I made a batch of peppermint bitters, now my Udvada memory will last while longer. Next stop was Irani Bakery, selling freshly baked Mawa Cakes, desi version of macaroons and coconut biscuits, a batch of these were also picked up.
The gallivanting came to an end with the sunset. We parked ourselves on a parapet to watch the big red ball of fire sink into the Arabian Sea. We would’ve continued sitting there, extrapolating the deeper meaning of life, if our stomachs hadn’t ever so slightly grumbled. That sign was more than enough for us to look forward to the dinner. Frankly, dinner was on the back of my mind ever since lunch got over. Typical!
Dinner was supposed to be light since we were driving back. It involved was croquettes and shrimps and mutton and chicken and custard, that’s all. This is one of those times I realised there is safety in numbers when you want to try out so much, but there is only so much space in that stomach. Generously divided in four people, both meals led to happy tummies.
The drive back was a discussion about the amazing food splattered by our observations on Udvada, its quaintness and its people. A good day trip indeed.
After the Arab conquest of Persia in the mid seventh century, adherents to Zoroastrianism, which may be the world’s oldest monotheistic religion, fled their ancestral home. Piling into boats and carrying their sacred fire with them, they landed on India’s west coast, in the state of Gujarat.
According to lore, the local king eyed the newcomers with suspicion. Not speaking their language, he presented the Zoroastrians with a jug of milk, filled to the brim, in an effort to communicate that there was no room for them in his kingdom. In response, the Zoroastrian high priests dissolved sugar in the milk without spilling a drop from the jug, demonstrating how they would enrich the local community without displacing anyone.
The sweetened milk won over the king—and eventually the rest of India. Thousands more Zoroastrians came to India, crossing present day Iran, Pakistan, and India on foot, on camel, and by boat.
Known as “Parsis,” or “Iranis” for later waves of Zoroastrian migrants, this small and tight-knit community has since built impressive businesses and charitable institutions in India. But their most well-known legacy remains culinary.
“People are crazy about Irani food,” says Sarosh Irani, the co-owner of B. Merwan & Co, a Parsi-style bakery and cafe in Mumbai. Waking up every night at midnight, he takes the train into work and arrives by 3 a.m. to carry on his grandfather’s tradition of baking his breads and pastries in a wood-fired oven. By 7 a.m., the cafe’s famous mawa cakes are warm and fragrant, and the doors are opened.
Outside Merwan & Co in Mumbai. ABHIJIT BHATLEKAR/ MINT/ GETTY IMAGES
Eager to build lives for themselves in their new home, hundreds of Zoroastrians opened restaurants and cafes like Irani’s between 1890 and 1940, with more established Parsis often supporting newer Irani arrivals with small loans. Serving cheap, tasty food in simple but stately decor, they became the Greek diners of India. Frequented by diplomats, day laborers, and everyone in between, they helped shape India’s largest city by bringing people of all classes, genders, religions, and ethnicities together over cups of chai.
Indians cherish the timeless quality of Parsi restaurants. But this adherence to tradition—a type of authenticity celebrated by modern food culture—may lead to their extinction. In a rapidly modernizing Mumbai, these beloved eateries are disappearing, replaced by hip, Parsi-inspired ventures run by outsiders.
Parsi cuisine reflects the migratory roots of its people, with blends of Iranian and Gujarati flavors. In a country full of vegetarians, Parsi food is hearty and meaty. Local favorites include half-fry eggs, minced lamb in rich tomato sauce, and thick mutton stew with caramelized rice. Simple bun maska—bread and butter—with chai is another staple.
B. Merwan & Co has been serving its bun maska in the same location, behind the bustling Grant Road train station, since Sarosh’s grandfather, Boman Merwan, opened it in 1914. Housed in the first floor of one of south Bombay’s many beautifully dilapidated old buildings, nothing much has changed about the cafe in the past century. (Mumbai is still often called by its former name, Bombay.) With a full breakfast of coffee, bread, and an omelet costing less than two dollars, even the prices barely seem to have changed.
“Whatever you see here is 103 years old,” Sarosh says from his perch behind a large wooden cashier’s desk at the front of the cafe. He looks up from his receipt book and smiles. “It’s only we that are not that old.”
94-year-old Boman Kohinoor sits in his family’s famous Britannia restaurant in the Fort neighborhood of South Mumbai. PRASAD SHENOY
But some Parsi proprietors are nearly that old. Ninety-four-year-old Boman Kohinoor greets visitors at Britannia & Co, established by his father in 1923, every day. Patrons flock to the high-ceilinged, checker-table-clothed institution for the signature berry pulao, a spiced biryani-rice dish with Iranian barberries.
Forty years ago, there were hundreds such restaurants scattered around Bombay—Kohinoor says he counted over 400 in the 1950s—all with signature Parsi dishes, a no-fuss culture, and low prices. Now, there are only a handful—30 according to estimates by Kohinoor, four according to another cafe owner.
But Mumbai has changed a lot in half a century, growing into a bustling, urban metropolis. And the families that run these heritage eateries have changed too.
“The pioneers who came here weren’t highly qualified,” says Farooq Shokri, owner of Kyani & Co, a bakery and restaurant he inherited from his father. The success of his and other Parsi cafes allowed more recent generations to go to college and excel as doctors, lawyers, and professionals abroad. Few children want to inherit the family business. “They prefer to have a less strenuous life than what they have seen their forefathers going through,” says Shokri.
For many of these families, bringing in a non-relative to run these restaurants is tantamount to closing shop. “The other Irani restaurants that have closed down, it’s because they have partners,” says Sarosh Irani. “When it’s in the family, if we have any problem, we sit and talk together and sort it out.”
But keeping it in the family is becoming harder and harder. And in a city of over 18 million, many Parsi restaurants have been pushed out of their now valuable real estate and replaced by multinational chains such as McDonald’s and Kentucky Fried Chicken.
Shokri’s kids are still young, and he isn’t confident that they will want to take over as the third generation of restaurateurs. This uncertainty clearly nags him. “It is a legacy which my father has left for me that I will continue,” he says. “I don’t know how long I will continue, that is a question mark.”
Much of the distinctiveness of Parsi restaurants reflects the community’s exclusivity. Zoroastrians don’t allow converts into their religion, don’t recognize the children of intermarriages, and don’t allow outsiders inside the doors of their sacred fire temples. But this exclusivity is making the community smaller and smaller. The number of Zoroastrians in India has halved since the 1940s, with only 57,000 counted in India’s 2011 census. India so values the business and cultural contributions of the Zoroastrian community that the government has launched a public campaign and is funding fertility clinics to convince this dwindling community to have more children.
But while the real-deal Parsi cafes struggle, non-Parsi’s are repackaging the Parsi “brand” for a younger, wealthier clientele. London has its own version of a Parsi restaurant, a popular chain called Dishoom, that plays on a vintage Bombay aesthetic. A new, sprawling office park and commercial development in Mumbai’s hip Bandra neighborhood is home to SodaBottleOpenerWala—a “concept restaurant” owned by a restaurant and catering company with branches across the country.
Danesh Vakshoor is the 29-year-old chef at Mumbai’s SodaBottleOpenerWala. His grandfather once ran an Irani cafe of his own, and he says he wanted to spread Parsi culture to others. “The Parsi cafes are dying day by day,” he says. “So I said, what do I do?”
SodaBottleOpenerWala promises to recreate the “dying legacy” of Bombay’s Parsi cafes, while serving exotic cocktails and hosting karaoke nights. Sepia-toned photos and antique knick knacks line the walls, and the menu is full of traditional Parsi dishes with modern updates. One branch even has a blown up photo of B. Merwan & Co papering a wall. It’s a common phenomenon in the food industry: new, hip ventures emphasizing tradition even as the progenitors of that tradition disappear.
Vakshoor sees SodaBottleOpener as a way to adjust a traditional favorite to the modern world. “People need a change after a particular point of time,” he says. “You improve on it, make some little changes.”
Shokri hasn’t been to SodaBottleOpenerWala, and he’s skeptical. “It’s just trying to copy the typical Irani type of restaurant,” he says. “From what I hear, the prices are very high. That wouldn’t fit into our culture of low-priced shops. We serve the common man. We cater to all sectors of society.”
The new iterations of cafes might serve variations of Dhansak stew and bun maska, but Sarosh, Shokri, and others are clinging to something more than menu items. At B. Merwan & Co, a man with long grey hair comes in, greets Sarosh, and sits in the same seat he’s been sitting in since 1971. Sarosh says he isn’t sure what will happen when he finally decides to stop making his midnight trek into the cafe. “We are all thinking, how long can we keep going?”
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The Parsis are one of Mumbai’s smallest communities, but over the years, their influence on the city has been paramount. From architecture and the economy, to art, culture, healthcare and more, their presence has set Mumbai apart from every other Indian city. However, their most well known contribution, beyond doubt, has been to the culinary scene. If you’ve grown up in Mumbai (particularly South Mumbai), there’s no way you don’t know a Parsi—we may be small in number, but we have this uncanny knack of really getting around—and where there’s a Parsi, there’s food. So you probably know about the food too. Maybe you’ve even been invited home for an authentic home-cooked Parsi meal, which is the best—unbuttoning-your-jeans-because-you’ve-eaten-too-much kind of best.
But, if you don’t know any Parsis, you poor, unfortunate soul who’s really missing out on some great grub, we’ve put together a list of the must-eat-at restaurants across the city and what to get at each.
PS: While unbuttoning your jeans may be acceptable at your friend’s house, you may attract some stares—mostly from the non-Parsis. If that bothers you, wear shorts or track pants. It’s a wise decision, we assure you. We don’t care—food over fashion any day.
Yes, yes, we know every article on Parsi food in Mumbai has Britannia & Co. in it. Often, right at the very top. You know why? Because it’s awesome. And a meal here isn’t just a foodgasm that will leave you in a food-induced stupor for hours once you’re done. It’s also a history lesson. Boman Kohinoor, the sprightly 90-year-young (you’ll understand why I say ‘young’ when you meet him, the man is inexhaustible) owner potters about taking everyone’s order and dishing out stories from his youth i.e. how it used to be in the ‘good old days’. He’s also an ardent supporter of the British royal family. You’ll even see a portrait of Queen Elizabeth II on the wall—it’s right below the one of Zarathushtra. If you look around the place, you’ll notice there’s also a life-sized cut-out of William and Kate. And if you enthuse enough about the Windsors with Boman, he’ll even pull out his most prized possession—a letter from Queen Elizabeth II. I’m not going to spoil the fun and tell you what it says. Go eat here and find out for yourself. Keep in mind that Britannia & Co. is only open 12 pm – 4 pm Monday to Friday.
What you’re getting: Berry pulao, patra-ni-machhi, Bombay duck (plus points if you call it ‘boomla’), caramel custard and as Mr. Kohinoor says, “a fresh lime soda sweet, to beat the Bombay heat.”
This quaint eatery is over a hundred years old and is a quiet little spot, amidst the constant chaos that is Dhobi Talao. Like most other Irani cafes, you feel like you’ve stepped back in time as you walk through the door—ebony chairs, tables topped with red-and-white chequered tablecloths, confectionary in old-time wooden glass-fronted counters, and the slow whir of ceiling fans overhead.
What you’re getting: Bun maska and chai, akoori (Parsi-style scrambled eggs) on toast, and kheema pao.
Located at Horniman Circle, Jimmy Boy is a favourite with the office-crowd. Its cheery red sign and blue-and-white striped awning over the doorway really make it stand out in a neighbourhood otherwise dominated by the brown stone and beige stucco office buildings.
What you’re getting: Dhansak, sali boti, berry pulao, the lagan nu bhonu, and the lagannu custard.
We all know how the lovely Parsi community came to the Indian subcontinent, but we seldom adore the culinary offerings of their underrated cuisine. With influences from Azerbaijani, Kurdish and Turkish cuisines, it’s intriguing how such a huge chunk stays unexplored.
Move over fried chicken; Farcha is here. Fried food is relished in every cuisine, especially this one. Chicken Farcha is a delicious Parsi counterpart of the fried chicken we come across in fast food chains.
Arguably most popular Parsi dish, it’s a typical Sunday lunch dish. Dhansak is a three lentil curry made with chicken or mutton and a secret spice mix. Polish it off with a plateful of brown rice.
Bheeda Par Eedu@Rustom’s Parsi Bhonu, New Delhi A dish that brings vegetable and eggs together is sure to be healthy. Bheeda par eedu literally means eggs on okra. Sautéed okra in spices are topped with eggs. Yummy and tiny, it’s a great breakfast dish and doubles up for a yummy snack too!
Berries in a pulao? Even though that may sound unconventional Berry Pulao at Brittania & Co., a true blue Persian dish is adapted to appeal to the Indian palate. This rice, berry and meat ensemble is flavourful yet subtle.
Lagan nu Bhonu@Jimmy Boy, Mumbai If you get invited to a Parsi wedding or ceremony, you’re in for a yummy delight. Lagan nu bhonu literally translates to food at the wedding. This three or four course meal is replete with flavour and often served on a banana leaf.
Saas ni Machi@Jimmy Boy, Mumbai A dish meant for celebrations, jashn and ceremonies, it’s also a part of lagan nu bhonu. This Parsi wedding favourite is fish cooked in a white sweet and sour curry emulsion. Saas ni machi is a dense dish often served with poppadoms or khichri.
A thick spicy gravy with a sweet note to it is what Jardaloo Salli Murghi is. Dried apricots gives this curry the sweet taste that balance the spices and robust consistency. The potato shreds (Salli) used give it a much needed crunch.
Kolmi no Patio@Soda Bottle Openerwala, New Delhi Another under rated dish from the cuisine is Kolmi no Patio. Shrimps in thick and spicy tomato gravy are a tangy delight to pair with your brown rice.
A wedding favourite, it loosely translates to fish in a leaf. This dish has fish marinated in mild spice mix and wrapped in a banana leaf, and steamed. Healthy and delicious, Patra ni Machi is a delicacy.
Eggs have a special place in this cuisine. After Salli par eedu and a few other dishes, Akuri is a breakfast favourite. It’s the Parsi counter part of the scrambled eggs. Almost runny but not undercooked, eggs are made to perfection and served with bread.
Food is my favourite F-word! Master in Eatmylogy. Future food entrepreneur. Antevasin. Spaghettivore. Hates the casual use of the word ‘foodie’ and loves a well-cooked meal, snowflakes and the mountains! Follow on Instagram: @lifewithapinchofsalt
The Parsis are associated today solely with Western classical music. The Swar Sadhana Samiti’s annual festival this week reminds us that this tiny community also led the way in promoting Hindustani music in Mumbai
In a small room in Jer Annex, a building around the corner from Kyani, one of the city’s oldest Irani cafés, in Dhobi Talao, stands a long table with a marble top. It is an altar to the Hindu goddess Saraswati, whose two-feet tall idol sits on one end. Next to it stands a portrait of the Parsi prophet Zarathustra, followed by photographs of Keki Jijina and his protégé, Aban Mistry.
This is the 400-square-foot office of the Swar Sadhana Samiti, a non-profit organisation co-founded in 1961 by the late Jijina and late Mistry to promote Hindustani music in the city. Jijina, who passed away in 2003, was primarily a sitar player who had learnt from Ravi Shankar among others, but had also gained some expertise in playing the tabla and violin. Mistry, who passed away in 2012, was one of post-Independence India’s first professional female tabla players, having learnt from the great maestro Amir Hussain Khan.
“Our twin aims are to ensure that unsung talents in Indian classical music and dance get an opportunity to perform, while also inviting established artistes,” said Rupa Sethna, 68, who is part of the managing committee, which consists of a second generation that is carrying forward the founders’ mission.
The Samiti, which holds its 52nd annual festival next Saturday (see box), is a product of a time when Parsis, today associated largely with Western classical music, were equally involved with Indian classical music in the city. The Samiti also symbolises the deeply syncretic culture of Hindustani music, which is a melting pot of different linguistic and religious communities, both among the artiste and listening communities. As the altar in the Samiti’s office shows, many musicians identified with and incorporated cultural practices of religions other than the one into which they were born, with no sense of contradiction.
In her book, The Parsis and Indian Classical Music, Aban Mistry lists several accomplished artistes from her community who were active in the 20th century. The better known among them were the Gwalior gharana singer Jal Balaporia (1917-2013), the Kirana gharana vocalist Firoz Dastur (1919- 2008) and sarod player Zarin Sharma (born Daruwala) (1946-2014), besides Mistry and Jijina themselves. Mistry also mentions the less-known singers Khorshed Minocherhomji, who was called ‘Saraswati Devi’ and learnt from the Agra gharana’s SN Ratanjankar in Lucknow, and Shirin Ratnagar, who learnt dhrupad from Zahiruddin Dagar.
Parsis’ involvement with Indian classical music can be traced back to the heyday of Parsi opera in the latter half of the 19th century, which used Urdu or Gujarati, and whose music was based on classical ragas. Even before their Marathi counterparts, Parsi musical troupes hired famous classical musicians to train their actors to sing.
This connection spawned the Gayan Uttejak Mandali, perhaps the city’s first music club, founded in 1870 by the journalist and writer Kaikhushro Kabrajee (1842-1904). An idea mooted by the musicologist VN Bhatkhande, these clubs were to include teaching, research, performances and publishing. The Mandali celebrated its centenary but its most active years were until 1920. Its aim was “to propagate among the Parsis a liking for indigenous music and promote songs and music which are moral and also with proper sur and tal.”
The Samiti inherited this ethos. “Aban Mistry was respected by everyone in the field, and she and the Samiti enjoyed tremendous goodwill,” said the Mumbai-based tabla player Aneesh Pradhan, who has performed several times for the organisation. “People were aware that her work was selfless.”
Moreover, Jijina and Mistry inspired a new generation to continue their work after they were gone. The committee members all work on a voluntary basis. “The Samiti and similar organisations work tirelessly, and are vital to the overall Hindustani music environment as they work through the year and over several decades, and provide a platform for young and senior musicians,” Pradhan said.
The Samiti’s annual all-India competitions in January for young musicians of different age groups also fosters a sense of loyalty for the organisation among musicians because many have won prizes there when they were younger and got a crucial early platform at a the concerts of prize-winners.
One of the highlights of the Samiti’s year is its annual festival, Swarsadhanotsav, which will also be its 666th monthly programme. Sethna is proud of the fact that all key committee members are always present at these events. “Apart from ill health, no excuses are valid,” she said.
The Samiti has a third generation that is invested in keeping it going: Sethna’s children as well as those of Feroze and Nazneen Katila, a couple in the early 50s who are also on the managing committee, and those of the president, Jiten Zaveri, are closely involved with the institution. “Our children know all the artistes and the artistes know them,” said Sethna.
What the Samiti could use is a healthy infusion of funds. So far, it has run on a corpus of donations and membership fees, but costs, of renting premises and paying artistes, are rising. “It is never easy,” Sethna said. “But we feel blessed to be able to do such noble work, and hope that Ma Saraswati allows us to continue.”
Parsis’ involvement with Indian classical music can be traced back to the heyday of Parsi opera in the latter half of the 19th century
The story of how the more innovative and adaptive of Indian businesses took on their famous foreign rivals after economic reforms were introduced
When burger chain McDonald’s came to town 20 years ago, exciting the city of Mumbai in the first flush of post-liberalization consumer boom, it worried Farokh Shokriye.
As the man who would later take over Mumbai’s oldest Irani cafe, Kyani & Co., Shokriye wasn’t sure if his humble Parsi chicken patties and traditional mawa cakes would withstand the competition from the mighty Big Mac.
They did—and that’s the story of how the more innovative and adaptive of Indian businesses took on their famous foreign rivals after economic reforms were introduced a quarter of a century ago.
Shokriye, who had worked at the beer company London Pilsner for more than a decade, didn’t plan on a life with Kyani and Co., established in 1904 by Iranian (known in India as Parsis) immigrants and operated by his family.
n 2000, Shokriye, then 40 years old, found himself at a crossroads. He could either migrate abroad—like most of his family—or continue his family’s legacy by taking over the Kyani cafe.
“I had plans to migrate abroad to settle down with my family in New Zealand. But somewhere down the line it dawned upon me that that would be very selfish on my part. All my cousins had left for the US; me and a cousin were the only ones left. My father and uncle were in their late 70s and his (father’s) health was also failing.
“The option was to go abroad and forego everything here—forego India, forego the shop, forego the legacy, be a little selfish. Or take over the business and grow. I took a call and thought it would be better if I settled down here in Mumbai and carried on.”
And so it was that Shokriye found himself running the Kyani cafe, a south Mumbai establishment whose high ceilings and period furniture evoke the charm and nostalgia of a bygone era.
