A whiff of history

It doesn't exist anymore, unfortunately. Both of them don't, actually.
Long gone and consigned to the realm of nostalgia.

Try telling that to a Punekar, though.

Till date, if he is to direct you past that grand old landmark, he'll still say, "Go past University Circle..."
Or, if he has taken a dislike to you (and given that he is a Grand Old Punekar, I wouldn't bet against it), he might well say, "Go past the fountain at University Circle..."

And the trouble, dear old friends, is that there is neither a circle, nor a fountain, at the confluence of Baner Road, Pashan Road and Ganeshkhind Road. Not any more.

But there used to be. Ages ago, back when you could find parking space on Fergusson College Road, back when going to Camp meant a day's expedition, and back when Parihar Chowk was the very outer reach of Pune City... back then, there was a roundabout outside Pune University. At the centre of that roundabout was a fountain.

In the grand old whimsical tradition of Puneri bureaucracy, it would spout water only for an hour in the evenings. In the equally grand old tradition of the Puneri populace, visits to the fountain would be timed to coincide with the first gush of water. Regular tourist spot, it was.

Which leads us to our topic du jour.

Once the gallivanting around the fountain was done, the genteel people of Pune, family in tow, would head towards the start of Pashan Road. Where, in unbroken line, there stood a host of tapris. Some sold anda bhurji, some sold ice creams. Some offered fruits and juices, while some vended pav bhaji. One particularly outstanding specimen - and this is sure to strike a chord with every Grand Old Punekar - sold bhajis out of an old dilapidated van.

Come evening time, there would be a regular rush at the place. People would park their bikes on the other side of the street, and youngsters from the stalls would rush at you, thrusting menus into your hand, encouraging you to go ahead and feast. Families, professionals, lovers, children - all would congregate there to partake of the varied choices on offer.

The stalls on the other side would be lit up by now, gaudy neon signs lit up in blue, red and green. Business would go on until around 10.30, after which the road would finally fall silent, until the next evening came around.

The stall I remember the most, though, was a Chinese stall. The food wasn't different from the fare offered by the other Chinese stalls in the vicinity - as you would expect. Nothing about it, in fact, was very different.

But you know how it is. You tend to pick a favourite, and stick with it. And so it was with me. Having gone there a couple of times, I kept going to the same stall every time. I'd have the usual fare: a bowl of soup, and either noodles or rice with some gravy.

But the thing that I remember the most was that the soup was for 12 bucks a bowl. 10 if you were a vegetarian. A point that I remember with some poignancy when I pay 100 bucks for a bowl of authentic, lightly flavoured, lemongrass infused, flavorful soup at some fancy-shmancy restaurant today.

And today, when I walk past the very pretty, very pointless flyover, past the beautifully done up Pashan Road, with all smooth tarmac and working signals and all, I still get a twinge of nostalgia.

And I'd still rather have my chicken hot and sour at Fountain Spot on a cold Pune evening, split one by two with a buddy.

Tchah.