Breakfast
A lull in the monsoon has resulted in interesting weather. Yesterday was a super clear sky, amazing cloud formations but hot and humid on the ground. This morning, a breeze encouraged me to take a walk to Hornbill House…that’s the headquarters of Bombay Natural History Society. Rohan Chakravarty’s Bird Business is on the stands and I wanted to pick up multiple copies for ornithologist friends. Walking along Oval, everything was lush and green, if one ignored the Metro works. The High Court gardens were freshly manicured, the trees washed clean after last night’s little shower. All along the footpath, vendors had set up their little breakfast stalls. The most tantalising aromas hit the nose as I walked past.
The most popular stalls were the idli vadai stalls. One was set up at the entrance to the path cutting through Oval. I stopped to watch. A folding stool. A large stainless steel vessel, the kind I boil water in sometimes. Filled with idlis and medu vadai in the ratio of 60:40. Two smaller vessels stacked on top of this one. One with coconut chutney, the other filled with a sambar that seemed chock full of carrots and brinjal and drumstick. The servings were generous. Four large idlis or three idlis and one vadai in a plate, a generous ladleful of sambar and a dollop of chutney. I think a plate cost 20 or 30 rupees.
Everyone crossing Oval stopped for a plate, it seemed. Next door to the idli vendor was a chaiwallah. Natural progression led the office goers from one to the next. Cutting chai (half a glass for the cost or sugar conscious Mumbaikar) was doled out in a constant stream from an old and battered aluminium kettle while the next batch brewed in a large saucepan on the little kerosene stove. 5 bucks for a shot of the sweetest, thickest tea ever brewed.
Breakfast done, long train ride behind them, people squared their shoulders and headed off to work.
Further down were the newspaper readers. Sitting on the kerb or on a fallen tree trunk outside the Institute of Science, groups of men reading the morning newspaper. I slowed down to read the names of the papers. Most were in Marathi : Saamna, Navbharat Times. One seemed to be in Bengali script, a couple in Tamil. The men were engrossed in the news, discussion of today’s headlines would follow later in the tea break perhaps.
The large peepal tree where the museum wall curves around to meet Hornbill House made me smile as always. A thing of beauty. But just a few steps down, was a sobering sight. A hundred or so men, squatting on the pavement, looking tired already. Some supervisory looking men took down their details. They gazed across the road at the line of men slowly making its way into the naval dockyard. Those were the lucky ones – they were today’s wage earners, paid for the day’s casual labour. Every day, hundreds of men tried their luck at the lottery and a chance to earn some money. The peepal tree and the other trees on the curve could only offer them solace in the form of shade. I felt ashamed of my carefree day as I stepped past them and into Hornbill House.