The Puneri Spirit. It's tekdis.

The night stills reigns supreme, but there is trouble at the far reaches of her kingdom.
Birds begin to stir in the trees that line the road, and their chirps can be heard in sporadic bursts.

There is barely any traffic on the road, as one would expect. Pune awaits yet another dawn, and it does so in silent, dormant style.

And in the dead of the night, on the road, there is the soft patter of rubber soled footsteps. Slowly at first, and then with more resonance, they head towards you. Slowly, from the dark haze of the night, there emerges into the ambient light of a nearby lamppost, a figure clad in a simple t-shirt and plain white shorts. White canvas shoes with droopy white socks, the middle aged figure has the beginning of a pot belly, but is otherwise fit.

He greets you as he approaches you, walking briskly, hands swinging loosely by his sides. You nod in answering fashion, and swing into stride beside him. And the two of you set off in tandem, as you did yesterday morning, and as you will on the morrow.

For if you are a true blue Punekar, you will go to the tekdi in the morning.

It matters not if you are a youngster who grumbles at being woken up in the morning and sent along for a supposedly reinvigorating walk (which, upon reflection, it was), or a middle aged income earner (as I will eventually be), or indeed, a retired pensioner (which all Punekars are). If you are a true blue Punekar, you will go to the tekdi in the morning.

Long long ago, nearly forty years back, the powers that be decided to make a new road that would take all the heavy vehicles straight out of Pune - a road that would not come within the city limits at all. And to to do this, they had to carve out a way between a small hill that lay in the way. And that's how Senapati Bapat Road was born.

Today, the two hills lie on either side of the road, with heavy traffic in between. Nestled at the base of the hills lie some of the most famous educational institutes in Pune - Fergusson College, Symbiosis College, BMCC, Law College, and MIT. Throughout the day, the two hills lie nearly abandoned, with hardly any people on them. But early in the morning and towards the evening, both Marutichi Tekdi and Vetaal Tekdi have people climbing all over them. Young and old, running or walking, they clamber with gay abandon on the various approach routes on either hill.

From behind the Economics department in Fergusson, or the little pathway that runs alongside Gokhale Institute, or up from behind the boys hostel in BMCC, or up from near Symbiosis. That's for Marutichi Tekdi, of course.
On Vetaal Tekdi, you could go up from Chaturshringi temple, or maybe from Patrakar Nagar. Perhaps you would want to climb up from the Law College Ground, or better still, from Kanchan Galli.
Of course, there are many paths that I have not mentioned here, but they are best left alone in more ways than one, and for reasons aplenty.

Up you go on any of these, preferably at the break of dawn, up the rough hewn paths, strategising your next step and figuring out the most effortless way to the top. Keep an eye out, if you will, for the rare peacock that you might glimpse, and hope to run into people you now know well. Dogs, happily free of leashes, run around with gay abandon, coming up to greet you every now and then. Right at the top of either tekdi, you will see some true fanatics punishing their bodies further still, doing their calisthenics et al. Why, I do not know. Such excessive exercise, and the desire for it, is beyond my ken. Thankfully.

But for many years while I was in Pune, and now that I think of it, not as often as I should have, I have climbed the tekdis. Either one of them and sometimes both. Long walks of solitude, or joyful excursions with my grandfather or with friends. Away from the maddening traffic, away from the uglier aspects of Pune, and up into the free air that the tekdis afford.

And of the very many things that I miss about Pune, the tekdis rank right up there at the top.

P.S. For more reasons than one, by the way. For you see, at the end of that long walk, lies breakfast. Which can only be had at one of two magical sister concerns, both of which lie on Fergusson College Road.

P.P.S You can smell the coffee already, can't you now? :)

P.P.P.S Visit, if you wish to, http://www.tekdi.org

P.P.P.P.S This was my 100th post on Life Beyond Gokhale. Hooray for me!

Cafe Good Luck. A truly Puneri breakfast.

At the confluence of Fergusson College Road, Karve Road and Bhandarkar Road lies an Iranian Cafe that almost defines Pune.
Established in 1935, as almost all of it's crockery will remind you, it stands as a proud symbol of the eccentricity that is Pune.
The ravages of time have played merry hell with the ethos of Good Luck as well, sadly enough. Today, having bowed down to the idiots who will insist on ruining a good thing when they see it, it serves sabudana khichadi and dosas and uttappas. But it still retains in itself the true blue essence of an Iranian Cafe. And till it does so, Pune will flock to it, come rain or shine.

Cafe Good Luck, ladies and gentlemen, is my favourite restaurant on the planet. And it will be for life.
I will talk of Good Luck when I talk of breakfasts in Pune. I will talk of Good Luck when I talk of dinner in Pune. I will talk of Good Luck when I talk of snacks in Pune. And I will talk of Good Luck when I talk about Pune, because Good Luck is an indelible part of my city.

But a post dedicated to the spirit of Good Luck I will write on the morrow. Today, I write about the breakfast at Good Luck. And what a breakfast it is.

Like all good Iranian cafes, this one opens at around six thirty in the morning. The entrance to the luncheon area is closed, and the chairs are hoisted upside down on the tables. The other entrance, though, is kept wide open and it is through this entrance that people stream in to partake of their morning meal.

On the right is the galla - the counter - behind which poses a kindly old gent with rather large spectacles which reside a little above a gallantly old beard. He'll peer at you over the upper rim of the spectacles as you walk in, and direct you with a kindly smile towards an empty table.

In front of him lies a small ice-cream counter, over which you can look out onto the traffic. In the old days, there would be a small wick over it, guarded by a small glass cup; at the side of which would be long slender pieces of paper. Smokers could light up using these, and I have, as a child, lit many of these papers... to watch them curl up slowly in smoke.
Over this counter and to the left is a rather large, rather old clock - still running, and further left lies a freshly garlanded picture of Kasam Sheth - the man!, make no mistake.

You'll walk towards the table that you were directed to, past a small glass display of pastries and cream rolls on your left, and a small shelf with a toaster, many loaves of bread, and two small bowls of butter and jam. On your table will be a glass top, under which will lie two menus, one for either side of the table. If you were me (and at Good Luck, that's no bad thing to be) you'd choose the Cheese Masala Omelet, with buttered toast.

While you wait for the victuals to arrive, have a look around. Old, chipped mirrors are on either side of the long cavernous room, with old gilt edged wood above and below it. At the far end of the room, and a little above the mirror lies a large scale replica of the menu. On the side that looks out onto the street, the mirrors are interspersed with windows that stretch for a good three feet. Nowadays, the cacophony of the traffic surrounds you even at eight in the morning.

Regular patrons sit at the ramshackle tables with papers spread out in front of them, steaming cups of tea at their side. Smokers will light up and puff contentedly, perusing the local news, sipping their chai, and talking to their neighbours in unhurried fashion. And at that early hour, the room is suffused with the gentle sunlight of a hazy Pune morning. Pune.

And then the breakfast will arrive. A steel plate with a wonderfully roughly made omelet, with the seductive aroma of cheese. Toast with enough butter to clog up all your arteries twice over and a bottle of ketchup.
Bon appetit.

Having dealt with the first dish, you consider your options for the second. Novices would go for the bun omelet, but that's being repetitive. Traitors to the cause would go for one of the South Indian dishes on the menu, and shucks to you if you're one of those. A man who knows what he is doing will call for Baked Beans on Toast - and this reminds me, one must do a post on Deccan Queen as well, no?

And it is after this second coming of the breakfast that Good Luck enters a league of it's own. As you sit back in your chair, moving around a contemplative piece of toast that has gotten enmeshed in your molars, you spot the red shirted waiter coming towards you. A slight smile on his visage is met with an answering grin on yours.

And a short while later, on your table will lie a steaming cup of chai (rumour has it, the unique taste is because of a couple of egg shells boiled along with the water) and a plate containing that most Iranian of culinary preparations. A light, fluffy freshly made bun, cut in half, and lathered... smothered, really... with butter.

Bun Maska, ladies and gentlemen. Reverential breath on cue, please.

Repast done, with maybe a second cup of tea to round off things, one gets up to do that which earns one his daily bread.
But in all of Pune, and as far as I'm concerned, in all of the world, there is no better bread to be had.

Rock on, old friend, rock on.

The Puneri Spirit. It's Language.

हे बघा, it's not as if I agree with that despicable fellow Raj. I am most certainly not saying, or even implying, that people from outside of Pune should not stay in Pune. Most certainly not. Why, my grandfather came to Pune from Chiplun himself. पण that does not mean that you can do whatever it is that comes to your mind!
I have been staying in this city for well over eighty years now, and I tell you, young man, Pune is not what it used to be! In our time, Pune was a more gentle town, and a more genteel town. Really, it was.
You of course, will not remember this Pune - अरे, you weren't even born then.
But so many things have changed in our city. The traffic, the sheer number of people, the noise... छ्या!
And really, truth to tell, what hurts me the most is the desecration of the Puneri language. It is not my contention, really, that Pune spoke an absolutely pure Marathi in my time... you know, Sanskritised Marathi - of course not.
नाही म्हणजे, there were of course great speakers of the time who spoke only the most outstanding Marathi, but even overall, I must tell you - the standard of language is just not what it was. Our Marathi may have had a smattering of English, but it was good proper... well... it was British English, that's what it was. This American culture, I tell you... Pune just isn't what it used to be.




अहो खरच...! It really is a sad state of affairs, नाही? Just the other day, I was at the bhajiwala, and after I had finished my shopping, I asked him how much I owed him... and really!.... नाही अहो, खरच!... he said, in perfect English... English!... sixty seven rupees. Of course, I don't mean to say he shouldn't know English... it really is a very good thing that he knows English... that reminds me... my maid is taking English classes you know... and she can speak quite well now... English, that is... these people are quite smart now.... हाँ तर मी काय म्हणत होते?...oh yes! They don't speak Marathi now, you know... because most people don't use Marathi ना! Just the other day, ek rickshaw driver... I told him, "डाविकडे घ्या"... he didn't know what I was saying... and he was Maharashtrian. Really! Pune na.... it just isn't what it used to be, no?





शी अरे फ़ेऽऽऽऽऽऽऽऽल! How can he not know even that much, अरे! I mean, I'm not saying I read सकाळ every morning, but I know that much Marathi, OK?! I mean, I know, we speak only English in college, or maybe Hindi, but I do think that at least us Maharashtrian guys should know like, the proper Marathi, you know? I mean, at least the basic terminology. Compulsory types... otherwise what is the point, नाही का? Not like, totally into Marathi or something, of course not... but dude, you know what I mean man.
Not knowing when to turn left काय अरे! बाऽऽऽऽऽऽऽऽऽस!
Seriously, Pune just isn't what it used to be.