A visit to Kasauli for the Khushwant Singh Litfest brought back this memory, when yours truly had the opportunity to share print-space with the two giants of the time - The late Khushwant Singh, and the Editor-in-Chief of the Tribune, VN Narayanan.
THE MAN BEHIND THE COUNTER
Krishna was a practical fellow. Learned too! He spoke at least seven languages fluently. Apart from native Kannada, he spoke Tamil, Telugu, Malayalam, Marathi, Bengali and Hindi. Each student was spoken to in his own tongue. But when it came to me, Krishna sighed: “It’s a pity I don’t know Punjabi!”
The menu at the mess was always a hotch-potch. Five or six courses with, in the student’s opinion, only one thing in common – all badly prepared.
“What’s this muck you give us, Krishna!” we’d often ask. He was frank and forthright: “With just two hundred and fifty rupees a month, you don’t have the right to complain. If you want fancy food, go spend your money; go to “Khyber” or “Blue Diamond!” “Khyber” and “Blue Diamond” were expensive hotels in Pune. He was quick on the riposte. No fun arguing with him, we would say.
You couldn’t put a label on Krishna’s grub. Many of us floundered while doing so. Parts of it were Marathi, parts Konkani, South Indian, Punjabi, what have you. The best description came, quite appropriately, from a scholar from the famous Gokhale Institute of Pune, who, I believe, has blossomed into an economist of national repute. Being a budding economist he had this habit of thinking in terms of definitions. For Krishna’s grub he came up with this one: “A heterogeneous conglomeration of food articles!” What else, with things like rice, hamti, dhokla, and sabzi all being served for the same meal?
Krishna came from a village in Karnataka. Like many Brahmins from the South, he too had sought to make a living from the restaurant/mess trade. How the restaurant business in many parts of southern and western India is largely in the hands of South Indian Brahmins is quite interesting. It is not just a matter of occupational preference of a certain class of people; it just follows the rules of practicality and convenience. With the rigid caste rules governing commensality in traditional South Indian society, people were very particular about who prepared and served them meals. For example, a Brahmin would accept food only from a fellow Brahmin, a Kshatriya only from a Brahmin or a Kshatriya. You could only eat out of the hands of an equal or a higher caste member! In ccordance with this principle, the Brahmin was the only one who could serve every caste. So restaurants run by Brahmins were popular, since nobody had problems eating there. In the course of time Brahmins in the South came to enjoy a monopoly over the restaurant trade. To this day, restaurants and eating houses in those parts are owned either by them or by Iranis.
While eating at Krishna’s mess, I would very often see a fat man dressed in loose white pyjamas and a white topi hanging about the place. Sometimes I would see him engaged in money dealings with Krishna. I would wonder who he was. Then one day, when Krishna had become almost like a friend, he told me that the man was a member of the Shiv Sena of Maharashtra and came to get his “cut” from Krishna’s earnings. There had been a movement in Maharashtra sponsored by the Shiv Sena to oust non-Marathis from Maharashtra. The agitations would often turn violent and the main targets were the South Indian workers of the restaurant trade. Krishna worked in an out of the way place so he felt even more insecure. Besides, he ploughed a lonely furrow. He overcame this problem by making a Shiv Sena man his partner in business!
Pune boasts of a confluence of cultures. History, geography, and the lot of heavy industry have made this possible. Pun is also a centre of education and young persons from all parts of the country and beyond come there for studies. All this gives the city a colourful atmosphere. Even at Krishna’s mess all kinds of students would come to eat. Krishna had good business sense. He knew that the only viable fare that all or most of his clients could bear was a compromise menu. That is why he served the hotch-potch. He knew no one kind of food could satisfy his clients. Although we cursed him most of the time for his “bad” food, Krishna did have a special place in our hearts. By the time a student completed his studies Krishna would know almost everything about him. For me he is like a permanent friend in Pune.
When the “food festival” (much as I hate that appellation) was held in our city recently, it did have a few enjoyable moments for me. The alien tastes on my tongue spurred quite a few memories. I realised how much I miss Krishna’s fare.
- Amit Singh
