To most people, Lalbaug in Mumbai is famous for only two reasons. First, for the majestic and revered Lalbaug Ganpati, which is installed here every Ganesh Chaturthi, and, secondly, for the flooding that customarily happens in the area every monsoon. But Lalbaug has a rich history. It is part of Parel, one of the original seven islands that formed Bombay. By the 1900s, this central suburb of Bombay was largely industrialised, with over a hundred cloth mills, and thousands of mill workers who worked and lived in the area.
Nobody will remember this, but Bombay used to have a 9 am and a 5 pm siren that used to wail every morning. There were over 400 sirens all over Bombay, which were installed after the Indo-China war of 1962 and were essentially used to warn people of possible air attacks. These sirens also came in handy during the 1965 and 1970 Indo-Pak wars as well. The sirens were also used to announce one-minute silences during important events like the Gandhi Jayanti.
For years these sirens were used at 9 am sharp and 5 pm every day, without fail even during peace times. Some say they were sounded just to make sure that they were in working order, or the sirens have also been a go-to-work-signal for mill workers. In peace times, the city would actually come alive with these loud sirens, and you could see workers with their little sachets scurrying to work to the mills and disappearing behind their large gates.
The Lalbaug mills brought in immigrants from the Konkan belt of Maharashtra, who settled in sprawling “chawls”, tenements with tiny rooms all over Lalbaug and Parel. These mill workers had to be fed, and the wives of migrant mill workers cooked together to dish out affordable meals to single men.
This was the beginning of the ‘khanaval’ (common kitchen) in Lalbaug. The ‘khanaval’ was a small, local eatery that catered primarily to the working-class population. These ‘khanavals’ were often established by families who wanted to make an extra buck by cooking, and considered themselves good at making home-style region-specific food. It was a way of providing, an inexpensive taste-of-home, but based on religious and regional eating habits. Suddenly, the city had South Indian Brahmin, Gujarati Hindu, Sindhi Muslim, Maharashtrian Brahman, or Maratha eateries.
In Lalbaug, since the migrant population was Konkani, the Konkani ‘khanaval’ flourished. All over Lalbaug sprouted these small cafes with small tables and chairs serving hot spicy food on steel thalis.
The most common order was the Taat, or Thaali. A basic Konkani Taat would have a mound of rice, a bowl of sol-kadhi (a pink drink made from coconut milk and kokum, with a bit of salt, and chilli-garlic paste) with a piece of fried fish, often a king-mackerel (surmai). It also included a small bowl of curry, either prawn or fish, and ‘ghavane’ (rice flour pancakes) or chapatis. A small portion of fried or dried shrimp, sukka of clams, or crabs on the side would be an indulgence. On weekends, there would be kombdi vade, Masala chicken and masala pooris.
In a world where rooms were offered on a lodging and boarding basis, (stay and food), ‘khanavals’ were often called boarding houses. One such boarding house, Shri Datta Boarding House, has stood in Lalbaug since 1920, and is still hugely popular amongst those who want a good Malvani meal. Shree Datta Boarding, is now under a massive flyover, yet on the main Lalbaug road, between the Bharat Mata Cinema signal and the Lalbaug signal. Shri Datta Boarding is most famous for its kombdi vade and Konkani-style seafood. But if you want the whole Lalbaug experience, you have to go beyond chicken and fish. Steel yourself, brace up and order the ‘vajri masala’. Vajri is intestines. The texture is a bit like well-done calamari cooked in a dark red masala paste. Remember for the lower middle class mill worker, offal or spare parts were always more affordable than actual chicken and mutton. So, also try the liver dry fry, which for my money, is unbeatable. For the full Konkani experience, try the Tikle fish (fish curry in red chilli and coriander paste with garlic), and kalwa koshimbir (oyster) salad, when available.
Right alongside Shri Datta Boarding, a brand-new avatar of the old ‘khanaval’ has opened, it’s called Majghar. Majghar literally means “my home”, and it’s a swanky air-conditioned joint, designed to look like a Konkani home. Unlike a Konkani home, however, be warned there could be long queues to get a table during peak hours. The fried fish is fantastic, though the cuisine is not really home-style.
But they have innovated with some of the dishes which are quite interesting. Like the Prawn Thecha. Now, Thecha is like a chutney made by pounding green chillies, garlic, salt, and sometimes peanuts or sesame seeds together. The result is a coarse and fiery paste that adds heat and flavour to food and is most often eaten with bhakri or dal and rice. Here they have combined the Thecha with prawns to create a dish that is spicy and full of the favours of green chilli. I like the javla masala papad (dried baby shrimp tossed in spices with chopped onion, coriander with papad). A worthy innovation!
In conclusion, I really appreciate the air-conditioning, the innovation, the quality of ingredients and the spick and span atmosphere of Majghar, but I can often be a bit of a dyed-in-the-wool, traditionalist. I want my Malvani food to taste like home. Anyone wants to invite me?
Kunal Vijayakar is a food writer based in Mumbai. He tweets @kunalvijayakar and can be followed on Instagram @kunalvijayakar. His YouTube channel is called Khaane Mein Kya Hai. The views expressed in this article are those of the author and do not represent the stand of this publication.
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