S Anand

This morning, for the first time, I saw what the waves crash over the rocks on Marine Drive. I did see some spray on Friday as we were walking along Marine Drive, but nothing like this. It was raining, and torrentially. The previous evening, my umbrella broke. I was walking out of office, which is directly in front of the sea. The breeze blows towards office. There’s no way for the wind to go except through the door. So when I walked out of the door and opened my umbrella, the breeze inverted it, and broke a couple of the rods. It’s still usable, but won’t stand another strong wind.

Anyway, we’d been working late last night, and I had to deliver some documents to a partner who lived at Malabar Hill. I took a taxi and sat at the front, as he drove along Marine drive to Malabar hill. It was raining, when waves crashed over the wall along the sea, and splashed all over the road, including the car, with tremendous force. I jerked backwards, but the driver hardly noticed anything, pausing only to adjust the speed of the wiper.They’re used to it, I guess.

Vishnu and I tried out Indian Summer, opposite to Gaylord. It looked like one of those ‘classier’ places, so I wasn’t expecting the meal to be any good. The variety was impressive though, so sticking to my policy of ordering dishes I never had, we tried Shahi shorba (soup), methi tikki and simla mirch besan ke sath, with makai roti and reshmi paratha. For Rs. 550. I recommend every single dish — especially the soup. The service was good, too, and I’d rate it as excellent, except for the fact that the waiter walked up to us and asked us if we’d ordered Shahi Shorba. True to my form, I stared at him cluelessly, looked around, and said, “Who me?”

The poor waiter was understandably embarrassed. He walked to the next table to confirm that they hadn’t ordered it. They hadn’t. He walked back, and in the middle of all this walking up and down, almost spilt a bit of soup on Vishnu. Then he comes back, after checking the register, informing us that we had, indeed, ordered Shahi shorba. Fine by me…

The good part is, now I know how to drink soup — move the spoon away from yourself when collecting the soup on the spoon. Thanks, Vishnu!

Crystal is opposite to Chowpatti beach. I didn’t know that, so when Bhura suggested we take a cab there from Churchgate, I boldly said, “Let’s walk down the beach.” It’s not that long a walk, but longer than I’m normally used to. At the end of the walk, I nearly collapsed. Crystal is apparantly pretty famous for its value-for-money. We ordered 2 alu parathas with malai kofta and paneer masala and dahi. The food was quite tasty, but filling. Neither of us had space for many more rotis. The bill came to about Rs. 100.

Amitabh, Shyam and myself finally managed to see “Someone Like You” at Sterling. I arrived a bit early, at 10PM, and the show began at 10:45PM. The wait was well worth it, because it seemed to me that the who’s who of Mumbai fashion were parading about the theatre. Not that I recognised anybody, but then, not that I would recognise anybody anyway. We got corner seats, unfortunately, with the AC directly above us. The three of us sat huddled in the corner, trying to warm ourselves. Fortunately, the movie proved a hilarious piece.

After having been stood up on a dinner engagement, Amitabh and I walked from Regal to Food Inn, which looked fine from outside. We decided to have dinner in the AC section upstairs. I didn’t notice anything, until Amitabh wondered: “Anand, why is it that there’s no one in this whole place except us?”

Well, there were, actually. 4 waiters, all standing with their backs to the same wall, with a tray in the hands, equidistant from each other. Looked like those thugs in movies who’d move away from the wall at the villain’s orders, and say, “Yes Boss!” Our hypothesis was that the place was run by the Mumbai mafia, and was the meeting point for the shady deals in the city.

It struck me as a fabulous idea, and I started writing it down. Only to notice a waiter peering at me. And then another. And yet another. To the innocent, it may appear that they gathered to take our order (which, incidentally, they did). Neither Amitabh nor I could be considered ‘innocent’ in any sense of the word, though. We quickly ordered (Amitabh mustering enough courage to crib that the dishes were being served too fast), and left, before the mafia arrived.

Nothing much to comment on the cuisine. The standard North Indian menu.