You don’t have to be a ‘foodie’ to enjoy the book under review. But it helps. Because apart from history and geography of a city that’s always been known for its remarkable mix of people and cultures, Pronoti Datta serves up more. This is history through the stomach, through taste buds, through the fragrance of spices, through everything that goes into the mouth-watering foods that make Mumbai so special.
And, of course, in the beginning, you need to know that Bombay Duck is not a duck but a fish, otherwise known as Bombil. That’s just one of the many quirks that make up the food history of this cultural maze that was once Bombay, and now Mumbai.
It is also right and proper to begin any food history of this city with the Bombay Duck because before the colonizers—the Portuguese and later the British—this was a land of the Kolis, the fisher people who occupied seven islands that together became Bombay. The islands came together by happenstance, not by design, as one of the best histories of Mumbai, City of Gold by the late Gillian Tindall, tells us. And this lucky joining of the seven islands gave India a city that was open to the sea on one side and to people, ideas and cuisines all around it.
Whatever we choose to call it, Bombay or Mumbai, fish have always played an important role, both for commerce and for the table. How the fish is caught, sold, and then prepared is specific to one of many different communities living in the city. And each masala is distinct, as the author painstakingly outlines.
Datta takes us through the distinctive parts of the city that unfortunately are now losing that distinctiveness. Of course, like most Indian cities, Mumbai too has restaurants that advertise that they serve ‘Punjabi, Chinese, Mughlai, South Indian’. But for every one of these so-called ‘multi-cuisine’ eating houses, the specialists still survive. You can eat fish the way the GSB (Gowd Saraswat Brahmin) prefer, or the Mangalorean style, or Konkan, or Goan. And then you have the East Indians, who take pains to explain how they are different from the Goans. Their bottle masala is distinct, sold in the lanes of Bandra, made in the homes of East Indians residing in that suburb.
Yet, although food is central to the telling of this history, so are the people who brought the food and made it popular. This, I found, to be the most interesting part of the narration because it is a reminder that cities like Mumbai belong to more than their geographical location because they have absorbed so many different cultures.
The author questions the Shiv Sena’s decision in 1995 to change the name of the city from Bombay to Mumbai. She argues that the difference between the two names is ideological. ‘Bombay was symbolic of an inclusive city that embraced migrants from across the country with open arms. It was this spirit that was crucial to the city’s economic and cultural success.’ But the name Mumbai, she suggests, ‘encapsulated a narrow, nativist idea that privileged the Maharashtrian identity’.
Ironically, the quintessential Maharashtrian snack, the vada pav, popularized by the Shiv Sena, has its antecedents in colonial times. The pav, or pao, the bread that forms part of the sandwich, was introduced by the Portuguese when they colonized parts of India including Mumbai, and potato in the vada also came originally from Europe. But who cares about such fine details today? If you think Bombay/Mumbai, you think ‘vada pav’, the Shiv Sena’s propaganda notwithstanding.
There is little doubt that the diversity of foods that flourish in Mumbai cannot be separated from its history of migration. Whether it was people from Iran, both Zoroastrians and Muslims, or those from the Konkan south of Mumbai, or the enterprising people from Udipi in coastal Karnataka, or the Sindhis displaced by the Partition, Mumbai has absorbed different and diverse communities and cultures including the food they brought with them.
Apart from vada pao, the food story of Mumbai inevitably throws up the Irani restaurants. Once these occupied prime positions at the corner of many busy streets. Owned by Zoroastrian Iranis and Muslim Iranis, they were places where you could grab a quick cup of tea and eat bun maska (basically bread and butter), or something more substantial like kheema pao. They sported names like Light of Persia, Universal Café, Free India Café, Military Café, Brabourne and Brittania. Each was distinct even as they had common features.
Take Brittania, an iconic restaurant in south Mumbai that features in all travel guides. Its Zoroastrian owners came from Iran. Brittania’s special dish is Berry Pulao, a rice preparation with meat (not to be confused with the biryani) that has a distinctive berry sprinkled on it. The barberry, or zereshk in Persian, is not available in India. Even today, the current owners of Brittania must import it from Iran.
Then there is Sarvi in Nagpada, still sought after for its mouth-watering Irani kababs or koobideh. Nagpada was once a cosmopolitan area with Christians, Jews and Muslims living together. Datta serves up this delicious nugget that one of the more well-known residents of the area was Florence Ezekiel, more popularly known as Nadira, the actress!
The history of Mumbai’s Irani restaurants, cafés and bakeries has been documented in films and books. Sadly, many have shut down, the latest being another favourite, B. Merwan opposite Grant Road station. Indeed, that whole area from Nagpada, Byculla to Dongri and Bhendi Bazar had several such restaurants that became the meeting place for groups like the Progressive Writers’ Movement. Well-known writers like Sadat Hasan Manto, Kaifi Azmi and Sahir Ludhianvi would hang out at these restaurants.
Apart from the specific communities like the Iranis, East Indians, Goans, Parsis and others who are linked to the city’s food history, there is much more in Datta’s book. Mumbai’s history is complex. There is no easy narrative because everything is layered by politics, social realities and prejudices that intersect sometimes just below the surface. They emerge when political expediency or ideology dictates, playing up difference instead of the commonalities. And Mumbai has seen and suffered because of such politics, most evident in the way the mix of cuisines available in almost any part of the city is now refined to suit the majoritarian demands of some communities.
Datta’s idea of looking at the history of a city like Mumbai through food is a timely reminder of the diversity so integral to Mumbai, a feature that could so easily be wiped out by a combination of commerce and politics.
Among the many tasty nuggets that stood out in this well-written book is the story of ice in Mumbai, not to be confused with the masked men who are terrifying people on the streets of some American cities. According to Datta, the first ship that brought ice to Mumbai arrived in 1834. The ship’s owner was an American and the importer a Parsi, Jamshedji Nusserwanjee Wadia. Clearly, ice was an expensive commodity. This first shipment of ice was served by a very rich man, Jamsetjee Jeejeebhoy, to his guests. Not only did the host fall sick, but also the guests. Importing ice in any form, frozen water or masked men, is clearly not recommended.
Kalpana Sharma is an independent journalist and author based in Mumbai.