Issue 10 | 29th April, 2023 | 6 minutes reading time
Heyo, Multitude-ers. Welcome to your April insight into the odd goings-on in my head and life. Today, a shorter issue than usual, where I recount some recent explorations around Bangalore.
Before that, though - an edited (and better) version of Multitudes’ January issue, where I wrote about my fraught relationship was running, was published in Truth Be Told. I’m really happy with how it’s turned out. Even if you’ve read the original, you might like the reworked version.
I moved to Bangalore in September 2021, tempted by the promise of affordable rent, good weather, and cheap dosas. For the first year, though, I rarely ventured beyond my little corner of Banaswadi. Work kept me busy about 6 days a week; with the little energy and time I had left over, I just about found time for the occasional visit to Indiranagar or Church Street. In those months, I’d been home to Delhi more often than I’d visited Koramangala. Kalyan Nagar, just a walk away, was my most common haunt.
I stayed in this rut for a while, even after I quit that job. Though I had more time and energy on my hands, I spent most of it travelling outside Bangalore. Despite my best intentions, I knew little of this city I’d chosen to make my home.
I’ve tried to change that in 2023, shedding my creature-of-habit character. I’ve been venturing into new neighbourhoods, parks, breweries, coffee shops, and darshinis (the colloquial name for the quick, self-service restaurants that dot the city) whenever I step out of my house. I was even cultured enough to take in a jazz concert by a band called Sage for the Ages - I’m listening to their new album, Second Nature, as I write this.
These explorations have been mostly rewarding and occasionally disappointing. I’ve found great beer at Uru Brewpark, been threatened by a guard for carrying a camera into Lalbagh, and had a milky-as-all-hell cappuccino at Ainmane (which also sells “ethically sourced” Kopi Luwak though, after this James Hoffman video, I’m suspicious of their claims).
These new adventures felt exciting and also calmed my anxiety. For the longest time, I’d been uncomfortable with trying new things or going to new places out of a fear of disappointment. When I found something I liked, there was precious little in the universe that could make me try something else. Even when travelling to strange places, I was the kind of person who’d find one restaurant nearby, discover one good dish on their menu, and eat that for most of my time there. A solid 7.5/10 always felt better than a 50% chance of a 9/10.
Thankfully, the new experiences of the last few months have offered me salvation, breaking down this unnecessarily large mental block. Even the worst experimental meals I’ve had haven’t caused significant regret and, barring being yelled at by the Lalbagh guard, my safety hasn’t been threatened at any point.
Still, while I’ve been flitting around town hunting for new things and places, I’d had a hankering for nostalgia-indulgence as well. About 5 years ago, I had perhaps the best dosa of my life, one that played no small role in my moving to Bangalore. This isn’t an understatement. What it, and other staples at darshinis, showed me was that Bangalore offered decently nutritious and affordable food at every corner. This made living alone much easier, saving me the need to cook every meal or burn a hole in my pocket every time I ate out.
I hadn’t been back there in almost two years of living in Bangalore and needed to remedy this. So I made my way to the little lanes of Malleshwaram, which I’d first visited in 2017. The friend I was staying with took me to this little hole-in-the-wall food joint called Amma Brahmin’s Cafe for breakfast one day. It belonged to that range of darshinis that still visibly exhibited their complicated caste legacy. Places like this had been set up in centuries past to indicate to its upper-caste patrons who’d migrated to the city (largely from places like Udupi, hence “Udupi restaurants”) that their food was “unpolluted”. Many earlier hosted segregated seating or outright bans for members of other castes or religions. Activism and protests between the 1930s and 1960s saw this slowly change and, though such discrimination isn’t practised anymore, naming conventions clearly haven’t always evolved.
Amma Brahmin’s Cafe was the kind of nondescript place you could miss if you weren’t looking, though crowds around it at rush hour might catch your eye.
The first time I came here, I was a naive Delhi boy used to paying far too much for half-decent dosas. I was also unused to being dished out second helpings of sambhar or chutney without an accompanying dirty glare.
And yet, here I was served a crisp, thick dosa filled with a generous helping of masala and smeared with spicy podi. A healthy amount of chutney (unlimited extra servings allowed) filled whatever space was left on the plate.
Five years ago, back when I was very much a straight-jacketed creature of habit, this place became my go-to for most meals. It was a 25-minute walk from where I stayed, but my allergy to experimentation convinced me that the 50 minute round trip, twice a day, was worth it.
On returning all these years later, I was happy to discover that my fond memories weren’t solely fuelled by nostalgia. The dosas remained crisp, the podi spicy, and the chutney plentiful. My moving to Bangalore hadn’t been for nothing after all.
So, that’s about it for this month. Hope you enjoyed it, and feel free to share it with others if you’d like to. Also, send me places in Bangalore of any kind that you think I might enjoy visiting - I’m always on the hunt for new things to do now!
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Till next time,
Shantanu