Laganu Bhonu (The Grand Feast) [Part One]

When Jamshed Khushrao Batlawala (affectionately known as Jimmy) founded the iconic Navseri restaurant in the summer of 1957, it marked an important milestone for Indian cuisine.  Born in a wealthy Parsi family, in south Bombay, Jimmy was a distant relative of Lord Firoze Batlawala- the first Mayor of Bombay City and the nephew of Hoozan Elavia- the country’s leading silent movie-star.

His father Khushrao had lost his wife, during childbirth and yet did not emotionally attribute her demise to the birth of the infant. Jimmy’s laughter reminded him of his now deceased wife when he first met her outside Elphinstone college ten years ago and the young boy had distinctively inherited his mother’s famous eyebrows.

When the child was six, Khushrao attempted to send his son to Eton for his education but young Jimmy’s earnest pleas and tears had made him decide otherwise. The young boy showed great mathematical aptitude in his formative years which gave Khushrao hope – he always wanted a Civil Engineer in the family. But as the years passed, it was evident that his interests lay elsewhere.

Jimmy spent his growing up years in the streets of old Ballard estate, playing marbles at the Oval, skipping school at Campion and sneaking in to watch the newly introduced talkies at Regal Cinema. It was no surprise when he failed the School Leaving exam for the first time, and no surprise when he failed for the third.  Jimmy’s progress in school (or lack thereof) left Khushrao perplexed on multiple fronts. The boy appeared to not be distinctive which was so unlike the gentlemen of the Batlawala family.

At eighteen Jimmy was a below average sportsperson, had appalling grades and if his performance as Saint Nicholas’ reindeer was an indication – had neither inherited his great uncle Hoozan’s good looks nor his acting abilities. It was therefore quite comforting when the teenager appeared to develop a keen interest in cooking and baking. His Mawa Cakes were legendary in Khushru Bag and the Parsi Panchayat had offered to give him a catering contract once he was twenty-one (Khusrao permitting of course).

While Jimmy eventually did not take up the contract, he did develop a great aesthetic sense in preparing food and especially presenting it to the larger audience. He had convinced Khushrao to sell the old family bakery and setup a new age Iranian restaurant which would be the first of its kind in the locality.

Unwilling at first, Khushrao relented and let Jimmy take charge of setting up the restaurant. The boy after all appeared to finally be passionate about something. Khushrao (now in his early fiftees) however had a condition, Jimmy had to complete his education even if it meant spending the rest of his savings from an institute of repute.  

Jamshed Batlawala finally graduated with a Bachelors in Arts in Philosophy from the University of Westminister and spent his summer in Paris, learning new ways to cook, appreciating French cuisine and getting acquainted to the charms of new age American fast food. He met Dilna Maneckshaw, an eighteen year old Iranian girl who was studying architecture and both bonded over their love for food, travel and children.

Jimmy’s decision to marry Dilna a year later did not surprise Khushrao. In fact if trust be told, Khushrao was relieved – Jimmy’s proficiency in the kitchen and lack thereof in physical activities had earned him an unfavourable reputation in Parsi circles at Khushru Bag. He also approved of Dilna as a potential bride, she was affluent, presentable to the community and had access to good education. Dilna was also, as he later found out a distant relative of his cousin Sooni who Khushrao loved will all his heart.

His finances were on the decline, the bakery was no longer making money. People preferred sandwich bread slices over bruns is what they told him. Who were these people, Khushrao wondered? The city had started to expand and his friends had already started purchasing plots of land near Juhu beach. The number of immigrants though did not bother Khushrao- more people meant more sales- he prayed that they ate bruns ! He was disappointed when they didn’t.

Jimmy’s return to India was met with much fanfare in the community. From being regarded as an effeminate outcast who was good at cooking, he was suddenly target number one for potential Parsi brides. Dilna’s arrival a few weeks later spoilt the mood albeit momentarily. ‘He married her for money- she’s particularly ghastly in her appearance’ said old Hiroo Aunty at the Gymkhana.

Khushrao kept his promise – the old Bakery was shut-down, the workers released and redeployed and Jimmy renovated the two thousand square foot space with shades of brown and yellow. He imported leather sofas and wooden tables from Paris, the glass was specially designed in Antwerp, the walls had paintings made by a lesser known artist called Fida Hussain who Jimmy had met in Paris and the billboard outside proudly said ‘Navsari Restaurant- Established 1957’.

Navsari for the next few years was the pride of Colaba Causeway. It had better food than Leopold’s Café and Mr Mondegar’s Café which was only a few metres away and even though it did not serve alcohol – it made it up with hamburgers and hotdogs. The restaurant was a unique mix of authentic Iranian food, American fast food and a few of Jimmy and Dilna’s inventions. Dilna would shop for ingredients for the Dhansak herself from Crawford Market and her fried chicken with cornflakes preceded KFCs fried chicken by almost five decades.

The Bombay intelligentsia flocked to Navsari in large numbers, it was speculated that getting a table would take as long as six weeks and often a letter from a person of repute. Khushrao was pleasantly surprised and if truth be told perplexed at how Jimmy had transformed himself from being a particularly uninspiring teenager to an astute businessman who was earning hundreds of rupees everyday. 

The food was good but not as good as they made it out to be- the important thing though was that Khushrao was no longer dependent on community support from the Panchayat. They told him in close quarters that he had a good chance of being elected in the Panchayat for the next term and this gave Khushrao a lot of hope. When he breathed his last six months later due to a respiratory failure which had killed his father and his grand-uncle as well, Khushrao was content- he had done everything that a father could have – albeit not getting elected in the Panchayat elections which were only three weeks away.

The Panchayat remained respectful, elderly women cried as the pallbearers took his lifeless body up the winding road at Teenbatti towards the Tower of Silence. ‘He was a gentleman and a true sword-bearer of the proud Batliwalas- an able descendant of Lord Firoze’ said old Russi Surti one of Mumbai’s most well known industrialists and Khushrao’s dear friend.

Khushrao’s death did not impact Jimmy deeply. He was fond of his father but had never really emotionally connected with him. Jimmy missed having his mother in his growing up years and felt that his father had failed in attempting to balance both roles at once. He blamed Khushrao for wanting to send him abroad, maybe so he could get married to Jia Aunty who stayed next door. He had heard that she had inherited a part of his fortune- which was reaffirmed when Khushrao’s will was read a few weeks later. She however remained conspicuously absent from his funeral and relocated to Canada a few months later.

Jimmy’s lack of sorrow or tears disturbed his father’s friends, ‘the new generation, after all his father had done for this useless chokkhra’ said old Mehr Aunty nodding her head with disbelief. This was counterbalanced and negated to a great extent by Dilna who anchored and co-ordinated all the rituals that Parsi customs dictated they follow. When she broke down when the body neared the Tower of Silence, the authenticity of her emotions made it seem that it was she who was Khushrao’s relative and not her husband. This salvaged the reputation of the Batliwalas to a great extent – although also meant that the old guard never approved of Jimmy and continued to provide him community support for the sake of Khushrao’s memory.

The restaurant was however doing phenomenally well. Most A-listers from the Hindi film fraternity had dined there on atleast two occasions notably the Parsi New Year and Christmas. It was speculated that Raj Kapoor- who had setup his own studio and directed his first set of commercial successes was a regular, also his contemporaries Dev Anand and Dilip Kumar. The ordinary Bombay citizen though kept away because the restaurant seemed out of bounds. A plate of Dhansak cost ten rupees which was almost ten times what it cost at Military Café a few miles away.

For Jimmy and Dilna there were few reasons to complain, the crowd kept on pouring in and Jimmy, who became Uncle Jimmy and Jimmy Pa over the next few decades remained the familiar face at the counter.  He stayed there exactly in the same position even though the leather seats eroded, the crowds thinned and the kitchen staff left one after another.

For a man who did not believe in God but in his own co-created destiny, Jimmy had begun to lose hope. At seventy five, he was a broken man. The children had left for Berlin, Dilna was paralysed and started to lose her memory and he had calculated that against receivables of twelve thousand Indian rupees, he was spending upwards of forty thousand on maintenance.

For the first time in many decades, Jimmy decided to pray, the Fire Temple was some distance away but maybe an audience with God would guide him on what he needed to do next. As the clock struck eight pm, the radio inside the restaurant stopped working. Jimmy sighed with disbelief, he had never really mastered his mobile phone. The old man sat in silence overlooking thirty empty seats and a kitchen waiting to serve its first meal. It was perhaps time...