P L AY FA R E
P L AY FA R E Culinary Leftovers from the Raj, The Evolution of Club Cuisine and Contemporary Eating in Bombay’s Colonial-era Clubs
WO R D S
SNEHA MEHTA PHOTOGRAPHS
MALLIKA CHANDRA
I N T R O DU C T IO N Post-colonial B ombay and the threat of colonial kits ch
I SE AT I N G The endur ing char m of cane and the pursuit of comfor t
II SE RV IC E A ballad of tinkling bell s and the per fec tly folded napkin
III SNAC K S T he accidental creation of a cui sine in its ow n r ight
IV S O C IA L I Z I N G T he le i surely endeavours of a ne w cohor t of s ahibs and mems ahibs
V SU R R OU N D I N G S Relics of the Raj and reminders of the past
L ounge, R oya l B omb ay Ya cht C lub.
INTRODUCTION The story of the British Raj in India is in many ways a story about food. One of history’s most significant imperial exercises happened almost by accident: what drew the British traders from the East India Company to Bombay and Calcutta in the 17th-century was not Queen Victoria’s desire to be Empress or even India’s promise as the Jewel in the Crown. It was the desire for pepper and cardamom, the exotic lure of “black gold.” The stories of two nations and its people were irreversibly linked for centuries to come–by peppercorns.
Over one hundred years after this initial arrival the British had moved on to trading tea grown in the hills of Assam and Darjeeling. The East India Company had been absorbed by the Crown, Queen Victoria had indeed ordained herself Empress of India and what we know as the Raj had begun: a century of rule over nearly a billion people by a few thousand British civil servants and officials. With the civil servants came boatloads of memsahibs, English women who came to India in search of eligible husbands and inadvertently brought with them more civilised ideas of culture and society. Everything about India was diametrically opposite to life in England, and this new cohort of homesick colonials set about building institutions and customs mirroring those at home. While parliamentary democracy, bureaucracy and the spread of English in the subcontinent are undeniably the most significant results of that effort, one institution tends to be forgotten because of its quiet existence: gentleman’s clubs. Modelled on the famous clubs in London, like White’s and the Athenaeum Club, these carefully landscaped spaces dotted across the subcontinent were meant to be sport and leisure facilities for elite Victorians to rub shoulders with each other, insulated from the presumably uncivilised natives. These were prominent, powerful institutions of their time, establishing not only a strict social hierarchy but also developing facets of the uniquely Anglo-Indian experience—food, sport and entertainment. By the time the British left India in 1947, they had taken many things, significantly the Koh-i-Noor diamond and a passion for curry, but they had also left behind cultural
Facing p age: Front Entrance , B omb ay Gy m k hana .
relics like the club, which were thoroughly combined into the social fabric of India at large. Today, a new kind of capitalist nobility—India’s monied class—have inherited the clubs and have adapted to the customs of their original members in the same way that Bombay and Mumbai are doomed to co-exist as names for a city that at once accepts and rejects both. Today’s Mumbai would be unrecognisable to a sahib if he came wandering through time, and not just because the city isn’t officially called Bombay anymore. What was once a set of sleepy coastal islands and a part of Princess Catherine Braganza’s dowry to King Charles II is today a thriving metropolis, the financial capital of the country and the birthplace of India’s most glamorous export, Bollywood. It is also home to a simmering discontent with mementoes of its colonial past and has undergone a massive effort to erase them by changing British names of streets, museums and train stations. While this rabid refurbishment was taking place in the early 1990s, and Mumbai was trying to decolonise its public spaces, the clubs continued untouched, as if the sun had never set on the Empire. Insulated from the national fervour happening outside their walls by ‘Members-only signs’, or perhaps completely forgotten by the nationalists, in Bombay’s many colonial-era private clubs, life continued as usual. Why should we turn our attention to these forgotten spaces, which the majority of people cannot even peak into? Politically, the only real oppressive quality of these clubs are the mythicised “No dogs or Indians” signs that were said to be prominently displayed at the entrances. They were exclusionary spaces,
building real walls to separate the rulers and the natives. But in the larger story of the colonisation of India, clubs remain largely inoffensive. It is this benign presence that makes them relevant in the age of reparations. The clubs themselves seem to have frozen in time in 1947: the cane furniture, the wood panelling, the archaic rules of a civilised people and the scent of elitism all remain untouched. But the new Indian members have infused in them post-colonial energy. Clubs have evolved gradually over the past 72 years with no urgent pressure from those who would consider McDonald’s a threat to the street snack vada pav. It is a rare, untainted specimen in a time when colonial kitsch dominates the common consciousness by propagating a mythicised version of the charm of Raj-era India and creating a disconnect between our faraway understanding of that history and the reality of it that surrounds us. If the story of centuries of imperial power can be told through a humble peppercorn, the story of post-colonial Bombay can be told through the cultures emerging around eating at these clubs. The food served at these establishments is a perfect distillation of the tug-of-war that continues to happen between staunchly independent Indian-ness and quaint, forgotten Britishness. The names of dishes, like Steak Phelomina and cocktail naans, are the contemporary equivalent of Hobson-Jobson. It is consequential that sev puri, a typically Bombay street snack, is eaten on the lawns of the Willingdon Sports Club, a club named after the 22nd Viceroy of India, Lord Willingdon, by
Ground s e x te nding into Az ad Maidan, B omb ay Gy m k hana
Groce r y Shop, B omb ay Gy m k hana
ladies who have gathered together for high-tea. It is fascinating that dishes like Eggs Kejriwal and Chicken Manchurian were invented in clubs and have remained popular decades later, even in England. Club fare is inarguably a cuisine, albeit one without a geographical origin or formal history, built on the ideas that led to the creation of the food, the practices, spaces and objects designed for its consumption. But as a city, we have been playing a fruitless game of hideand-seek with our colonial past for too long, acknowledging only what suits us and ignoring the rest. This book attempts to unbiasedly approach the hybrid nature of post-colonial Bombay through the food served at these clubs. The goal is not to sift through club menus to reclaim our food versus theirs, or to reject the colonial influence in search of an illusory uninterrupted Indian origin story. Instead, the goal is to honour the influence of the past on the reality of today and to give form to the culture that has emerged around eating at clubs, and the reflection of the beliefs of a people in the way they eat.
Facing p age: S e v Pur i , B omb ay Gy m k hana
Entrance to D ining Hall , B omb ay Gy m k hana
“The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there,” wrote L. P. Hartley famously in his 1953 novel The GoBetween, a coming of age story set at the end of the Victorian era. Hartley’s statement stemmed from the uncertainty of a civilisation in decline and points to the misrepresentation of history by our memories. In Bombay, however, this is not metaphorical but factual: the past constitutes India as a colony, occupied by foreigners who did do things differently. But as Hartley has so beautifully noted, memories are half-truths which cloud our perceptions of reality. Members of Bombay’s Raj-era clubs behave as their colonial counterparts did, using the clubs for sport–most have the same set of sporting facilities like gyms, tennis and squash courts and swimming pools–but in a way that feels incidental to the main purpose of being seen in the right society. The club one is a member of speaks to one’s position in said society, and since memberships are either closed or are exorbitantly expensive, this position is passed down over generations. Clubs may have become selfcontained spaces with mundane amenities like grocery shops, hair salons and children’s playgrounds adjacent to the pitches and courts, but even today they remain relics of the British idea of leisure for the privileged. It is ironic that some of the city’s most affordable food and drink is available in these clubs. This book chronicles five of Bombay’s oldest and grandest colonial-era sports clubs, and draws connections between their food, service, furniture and social customs, in an effort to identify the shared culture that exists unnoticed in them all.
Facing p age: Verandah , B omb ay Gy m k hana
The Bombay Gymkhana refused to change its name to Mumbai Gymkhana, which is fitting as all its members surely refer to the city by its old Anglicised name. The club was built in 1875 and has been the unofficial home of rugby in India ever since, although India’s first Test cricket match was played here. It is a quintessential colonial club, with a striking pavilion opening out to a large maidan and it is a stone’s throw away from the grandest of gothic colonial buildings, the since-renamed Victoria Terminus. The club has a casual atmosphere in its restaurant and bars and members are united by their unbridled enthusiasm. However, it remains deeply entrenched in archaic rules: until the turn of the century, women were not allowed to be independent members of the club. The Cricket Club of India owes its existence to the Bombay Gymkhana, where the Maharaja of Patiala was refused entry into the Europeans-only enclosure while visiting to watch a cricket match. Infuriated, he founded CCI in 1933, modelled it on the Marylebone Cricket Club in London and vowed that it would never discriminate on the grounds of race. Even today, CCI’s curved Art Deco building proudly accepts all people to matches played at its Brabourne Stadium. Fittingly, references to cricket are hard to miss even when no matches are being played: the restaurants and bars are all named after cricket terms—The Wet Wicket, the Porbunder All Rounder—and the walls are covered with photographs of India’s beloved players. The club’s unbeatable location on Bombay’s sweeping waterfront adds to its tropical charm.
CCI is waterfront-adjacent, but the Breach Candy Swimming Bath Trust is built on the water. And as the name implies, swimming is the main pursuit. The BCC (or Breach Candy Club as it is colloquially called) boasts of two pools, one of which is an Olympic-sized indoor pool, but its pride and glory is a Pre-Partition India shaped saltwater pool teetering on the boundary of the club and the Arabian Sea. This pool and the club’s resort-like vibe are famous: Leonard Cohen swam there once and Salman Rushdie immortalised the India-shaped pool in Midnight’s Children, having himself grown up right opposite the BCC. It is the clubs endeavour to be as relaxing a place as possible, which explains how members are allowed to swim without swimming caps (a taboo in other clubs) and enter the dining room wearing flip-flops or even immediately after a dip. The club was built for a strictly European membership and it took protests outside its gates in 1960, well after Independence, for this rule to be repealed. Named after the 22nd Viceroy of India, Lord Willingdon, the Willingdon Sports Club has dropped the Royal from its name since its founding in 1928, but it was also the first of the colonial clubs to accept Indians as members. Despite this, Willingdon remains the grand dame of Bombay’s clubs and its elite members are happy to comply with the strict code of conduct that is still in place. It is said that there is an unspoken rule that actors and sportspeople should not be granted membership lest they are a nuisance to Bombay’s haughty aristocracy. The presence of wealth and power is visible in its 18-hole golf course, an unheard of
luxury in a space-deprived city like Bombay, and in its massive, white colonial-style clubhouse. The Royal Bombay Yacht Club, however, doesn’t shy away from its nod to the Crown. The club has hosted royalty, from King George V and Queen Mary to Prince Phillip, and its Indo-Saracenic structure stands at Apollo Bunder, right opposite Bombay’s most iconic monument, the Gateway of India. The Yacht Club has a small, niche membership and resembles a gentleman’s club to this day. It promotes sailing activities and competitions, even though very few of its members still sail. The nautical theme extends into the interior of the building, with porthole windows on doors and ships carved into wood. The most fascinating piece of decor? A recent portrait of Queen Elizabeth II hangs in the lounge.
Facing p age: L ounge , R oy a l B omb ay Ya cht C lub.
Ab ove: Front Entrance , B omb ay Gy m k hana . Facing p age: D r ive way, Bre a ch C andy Sw im m ing B at h Tr ust .
Ab ove: Indian Cr icket Me morabilia , C r icket C lub of Ind i a . Facing p age: C ard Tables , C r icket C lub of Ind i a .
Waiting Area & Reception , B omb ay Gy m k hana
G e ntle me n’s Chang ing Room , B omb ay Gy m k hana
S easide, Bre ach C andy Sw im m ing B at h Tr ust .
Ter race, B omb ay Gy m k hana .
I I
SEATING SEATING
TheThe eating experience is asis much a product of eating experience as much a product its environment of its environmentasasofofthe thefood fooditself. itself. Bombay’s Bombay’s colonial clubs,having havingmanaged managed to hold onvast to colonial clubs, to hold on to vast in a densely city,a provide spacesspaces in a densely crowdedcrowded city, provide number aof number of different venues eating,serving each different venues for eating, each for inherently inherently servingand a different purpose andkind ena different purpose encouraging a different couraging a different kind of gathering. of gathering.
First f loor, B omb ay Gy m k hana .
It is fascinating to observe how objects as commonplace as tables and chairs can influence how we behave. A round table encourages sharing, the passing around of plates and the rubbing of elbows; a joyful, communal meal. A low cane armchair, with pastel-coloured floral cushions and smooth, varnished arms almost calls out to one to settle down and read a newspaper cover to cover. A cup of masala chai makes for an obvious companion. This isn’t something one would like to do in a straight-backed ornate wooden chair, where it somehow feels easier to stir up arguments and vehemently slam plates onto the table. The design of the seating in a space defines the stories that will be created there and even what food will be eaten, and in Bombay’s clubs, this phenomenon is on full display. The Willingdon Sports Club is famous for its verandah, a tranquil, whitewashed space with cane furniture and low glasstopped coffee tables overlooking the golf course and flanked by flamboyant fuchsia bougainvillaea trees. It is the perfect spot for high-tea, or a gin and tonic on a summer night, or perhaps its allure is that it might be the last corner of Mumbai where one can hear one’s own thoughts. This is helped by the fact that children are discouraged—their eating area comprises a little food court, where families, children and their nannies can order dosas and sandwiches from colourful stalls, while seated on stackable plastic chairs made by India’s favourite manufacturer, Nilkamal. CCI has a similar spatial advantage. There, they arrange the same plastic chairs and tables on the cricket pitch of Brabourne
Stadium, dress them up with green checkered tablecloths, and serve snacks all evening long. Groups of friends gather on breezy Sunday evenings, chattering loudly, energised by the smell of the pitch and the stadium seats towering around them under the pink-hued brilliance of a Bombay sunset. Despite nuances and differences in the experiential opportunities they provide, all five of the clubs chronicled in this book share a common colonial heritage: the cane chairs and tables, seen fairly commonly across the country, are descendants of campaign furniture, a design style from the Raj. The Empire, especially in India, was an exercise in moving people across a vast subcontinent, with colonial officers travelling thousands of kilometres to govern and survey. But the greatest migration of these colonials-in-exile was every summer when the capitals were moved up to hill-stations like Shimla and Mahabaleshwar to escape the searing heat of the plains. Hundreds of coolies carried furnishings up to the summer capitals, which maintained the style and luxury the sahibs and memsahibs had grown accustomed to. Until the 19th-century, the trend was to try and replicate English homes as much as possible with heavy Edwardian pieces, but the local craftsmanship with cane furniture proved to be a practical, portable but still attractive alternative for summerhouses. It is fitting that examples of campaign furniture, a uniquely colonial Anglo-Indian style of furniture, can be seen scattered through all the clubs, starkly different from the modern plastic chair. These pieces of furniture are comfortable and inviting, in part because of their design and in part because they exist in
Facing p age: O utdoor S eating, C r icket C lub of Ind i a .
Verandah , B omb ay Gy m k hana .
our collective aesthetic consciousness: they seem like naturally occurring objects in the given space. In the Royal Bombay Yacht Club’s lounge, the woven cane armchairs are topped with candy-cane striped pink cushions, a seemingly unusual choice in the nautical-themed club. Under the dim, yellow lighting of the room, however, the pink seems like it was meant to be, evoking a cosy living room where one can put one’s feet up (Note: one shouldn’t put one’s feet up, unless one wants to be sternly rebuked by a rapidly materialising waiter). Even at the Breach Candy Club, the most modern of these establishments, and the most casual, there are traces of this colonial style. The curious-looking, primary-coloured foldable wooden chairs which are stacked against the wall, invite members to place them wherever they please in the lawn, and look like children’s furniture. But their long, tubular arms and sloped canvas seat (assembled on request by a waiter) are reminiscent of the Roorkhee chair, a Raj-era style that grew so popular that it is believed to have inspired 20th-century furniture design, even Marcel Breuer’s famous Wassily chair. It appears that the Empire was also an exercise in the spreading of ideas. Yet, for all its colonial charm, a sense of unease does lurk in the continuing use of this furniture. What are the implications of eating street food in a 200-year-old building, a symbol of racial exclusion, seated on chairs that depict the way of life of the oppressors of our forefathers? Especially when this food is consumed by a modern, cosmopolitan generation—inheritors of a free and secular city—speaking Hinglish under the shade
of tropical palms? Does the food transform and evolve? Do the eaters? If seating can shape meal culture, it can also be a powerful symbol of the uncomfortable reconciliations we must make with our history. But irrespective of its design heritage or political agenda, the proof of a chair is in the sitting. At the verandahs and dining rooms and poolsides of all the clubs, this AngloIndian style inspires a common sentiment: it encourages sitting for long hours, and accommodates large groups of people, whether at Sunday brunch or at high-tea. All the better for consuming the endless plates of sev puri and chilli cheese toast and pots of tea that waiters stealthily replenish, going unobserved because of the loud chatter and laughter, induced by an ease one only feels at home. It is clear that this is furniture designed to eat food that one is meant to spend time with.
L aw n, Bre ach C andy Sw im m ing B at h Tr ust .
Ter race, B omb ay Gy m k hana .
Ab ove: Ter race, B omb ay Gy m k hana . Facing p age: Ter race , B omb ay Gy m k hana .
Ab ove, Facing p age: Ve randah , B omb ay Gy m k hana .
“Dolphin which is over hundred and fifty years old, was recently renovated over some months. Elements of our special building structure, such as old teak wooden beams, original fittings annd artefacts were incorporated into the new design. Supplemented be locally sourced new materials - as what adorns the bar were used to provide Dolphin with a great deal of charm and cosy feel; whilst not deviating significantly from its novel design aesthetic.aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa Opening hours: 11:30 a.m. - 3:00 p.m. and 6:30 p.m. - 11:00 p.m.; last orders fifteen minutes prior to closing time.�
Facing p age: D olphin , R oy a l B omb ay Ya cht C lub.
L aw n , Bre a ch C andy Sw i mmi ng B at h Tr ust .
Hallway, R oy a l B omb ay Ya cht C lub.
Ab ove, Facing p age: First Floor, B omb ay Gy m k hana .
Verandah , B omb ay Gy m k hana .
II
SERVICE
There is a quintessential image of the Indian servant in the Raj. He is dark skinned, dressed in a pristine white kurta and trousers, a colourful turban and a cummerbund. He is never heard from except for the occasional, deferent “Yes, Sahib.�
Even a low-level British officer in the 19th-century could have dozens of servants, each assigned to perform very specific tasks, like the punkah-wallah, whose sole duty was to pull the rope that operated the fan, or punkah, day and night to create a cooling breeze. The duties of the khitmagar, or bearer, were slightly broader, including standing behind his master’s chair at mealtimes and stirring his tea, cutting his meat—everything short of actually eating the food for him. This was the colonial idea of servitude. The waiter at a club today, however, is not a servant. He is an employee, without a master, and he doesn’t wear a cummerbund. Instead, he wears a waistcoat or a Nehru jacket, and he might look at you funny if you ask him to stir your tea. But like his Raj-era counterparts, he would most likely say “Yes, Sir” and go ahead and stir it if asked. But what is troubling is that to summon the waiter to stir said tea, one must ring the little golden bell placed on the verandah tables at the Willingdon Club, Yacht Club and the Bombay Gymkhana, starkly yellow against the glass tables and monogrammed silverware. It can be assumed that this is intended to reduce the clamour of calling the waiter to a dignified, tinkle, but at once feels outdated and demeaning to everyone except the children who delight in this noisy distraction. There is a legacy of the kind of service expected from the servers and waiters in a club that has endured into our democratic times.
Ve randah , The Wi l l i ngd on Sp or t s C lub.
Verandah , The Wi l l ingd on Sp or t s C lub.
Perhaps this stems from the sacred position the act of hospitality holds in Indian society at large. Combined with vestiges of colonial extravagance, this Indian belief appears to have found a home in clubs, but it has created a unique kind of homeliness and warmth coupled with a degree of casual complacency. It certainly helps that a large number of servers seem to have been working there for decades, so much so that they may have served you chocolate milkshakes after swim lessons as well as your first whiskey soda when you turned twenty-one. The men in these roles—and they are always men—are the faces of the establishment, the defenders of its code of conduct, the keepers of everyone’s secrets. They will treat you with a mixture of respect and familiarity, and in the case of some of the older staff, with affection, but they will not hesitate to sternly rebuke you for forgetting to sign in your guests or for trying to enter the lounge with shorts on. After all, they have earned themselves the right.
Facing p age: Verandah , B omb ay Gy m k hana .
L ounge , R oy a l B omb ay Ya cht C lub.
D olphin , R oy a l B omb ay Ya cht C lub.
Ab ove: D ining Hall, B omb ay Gy m k hana . Facing p age: C offee - walnut ice - cream , D ining Hall , B omb ay Gy m k hana .
Ab ove: Mas ala O melet te , B omb ay Gy m k hana . Facing p age (top-b ottom ) : L aw n , C r icket C lub of Ind i a ; L aw n, Bre a ch C andy Sw i mmi ng B at h Tr ust .
First Floor, B omb ay Gy m k hana .
Snacks at the L aw n , Bre a ch C andy Sw im m ing B at h Tr ust .
III
SNACKS Can a menu be a historical document? Can it be read as a record of the cultural and social state of affairs of a time? Is there political discord hidden in the All Day Breakfast section, or a universal sense of ennui in the list of sides? A lot can be said about a society by what they like to eat.
Mu shroom on Toast, R oy a l B omb ay Ya cht C lub.
Whether or not the menu as a type of record can reveal historical stories, the hodgepodge nature of the foods served in the clubs makes them unique cultural artefacts. In Victorian times, this food was a mixture of traditional English dishes like Beef Wellington and Anglo-Indian creations that incorporated the local produce and were appropriate for consumption in the tropical heat, like Prawn Curry, a dish invented at the Madras Club which became so famous across the Empire that Prince Albert visited the club just to sample it. There are whiffs of nostalgia and the story of the inadvertent merging of cultures that can be read into this cuisine. What does club fare look like today, in independent, multicultural India? Much like how the country is still grappling with its identity, club food seems to be undergoing an identity crisis as well. What was once considered the last bastion of hoitytoity Victorian eating, markedly separate from the local snacks served by street vendors outside its walls, has now embraced the everywhere-but-nowhere approach to menus like many restaurants in the country. Pizzas nestle against Chicken Manchurian, akuri eggs clash with Waldorf salads, kebabs and sandwiches compete. This inclusivity has its share of critics, who mourn the loss of the perceived charm of colonial eating, but it represents the shifting preferences of a rapidly globalising population. Luckily, even though the lunch and dinner fare is largely homogenous across clubs, the snacks on their menus continue to be interesting specimens.
In the eggs on offer, one can see the many cultural influences on full display. A club staple even in a country with a large vegetarian population, eggs are the protein-filled choice of many a breakfaster and gym-goer. Parsi cuisine’s obsession with eggs found a permanent home on club menus in the form of akuri, a spicy scrambled egg dish with tomatoes, onions, a generous blend of masalas. The trick to making this the perfect hangover food? A smattering of green chillies and a handful of coriander. The same mixture can be made into a masala omelette as well, which can be transformed into an oozing, heart-warming dish by a liberal amount of Amul cheese. Akuri and masala omelettes are wonderful, but they don’t hold the same legendary status as Eggs Kejriwal. The story goes that Devi Prasad Kejriwal, a rich Marwari businessman and member of the Willingdon Club, loved eggs so much that he would defy his strictly vegetarian culture and sneakily eat them at the club. His need to be stealthy, however, resulted in the creation of the eponymous dish: he would order a pair of fried eggs on toast but request that the eggs be hidden by a slice of Amul cheese and a garnish of green chillies. In time, Willingdon added this makeshift dish to its menu, and it has spread to clubs and even restaurants across the country ever since.
Facing p age: Mas ala O melet te , B omb ay Gy m k hana .
Eg g s Kejr iwal, The Wi l l ingd on Sp or t s C lub.
The hero ingredient of Eggs Kejriwal is, of course, the egg but the toast that the eggs sit on is worth culinary consideration as well. There is a proliferation of toast-based dishes on club menus, and their frequency in school tiffin boxes are a testament to how well-loved they are. Despite being the most humble of foods, good toast was somewhat a rarity in colonial life. It was made by holding sliced white bread up to hot embers, resulting in chewy and dry toast with streaks of black ash. Perhaps this is where the tendency to douse toast with rich toppings sprung from. Toasted sandwiches are popular, from ham and cheese to Russian salad, but chilli cheese toast is an iconic Anglo-Indian snack which no club would dare to leave out of their menus. It shares its culinary roots with the British custom of openfaced cheese sandwiches and isn’t just cheese so much as it is a roux–thickened with milk, and no surprises here, Amul cheese. The toasted bread is then liberally covered with the pale yellow mixture, to which green chillies are added, and placed under the grill until a golden layer of caramelised skin forms on top. It is indulgent and delightful as is, but can be served with coriander chutney or mustard. The most popular condiment, however, is ketchup—found on every table in a Kissan squeezable bottle. Chilli cheese toast, and its sister dishes of mushroom on toast or Welsh Rarebit, the British classic, are all rich foods. In Bombay’s tropical climate, that means that they go down well with a cold, refreshing beverage. They pair best with cold coffee, a uniquely Indian concoction. It is more milkshake than coffee, made by blending milk, coffee, ice cream and possibly Hershey’s
chocolate sauce into a creamy, frothy and sweet drink that cuts through the saltiness and creaminess of the cheese sauces and the density of white bread like nothing else. If you order from the club’s expanding Indian snacks menu, however, it is better to stick with the more traditional beverages. Bright and summery mosambi juice perfectly complements the layers of flavours and textures packed into the little parcels called sev puri, one of Bombay’s famous street foods called chaat. It continues to be a marvel that this little bite-sized snack manages to be sweet, spicy, soft and crunchy all at once, making it the undisputed king of chaat. No disrespect meant to dahi puri and bhel, each delicious in their own place. The only other thing as quintessentially Bombay as chaat is coconut water. Even though their local credibility is dented by the dainty baskets they are served in, this product of Bombay’s coast is the most thirst-quenching drink. Its mellow sweetness is the perfect foil to the heat of the hot sambar served with dosas and idlis. Club menus reveal many other oddities: Breach Candy Club’s Steak Phelomina comes in a ladies portion, a section in the Yacht Club menu is titled “Substantive Items,” and the CCI poolside menu lists the treats available at the “historical pool where G.R Vishwanath’s sixer once landed.” There are badly made colonial leftover dishes, like steaks paired with odd corn salads and asparagus sandwiches with the crusts cut off, which the current cooks seem to be replicating by sight instead of taste. But at the end of the day, people come to clubs looking for familiar, reliable and comforting food. They have standard
Wel sh Rarebit, The Wi l l i ngd on Sp or t s C lub.
S e v Pur i, B omb ay Gy m k hana .
orders, having memorised the menus over the years, building unobserved predictability into their regular meals. Here lies the triumph of the club menu as a cultural marker, disjointed and confused though its authenticity may be. It doesn’t attempt to dazzle people with innovations and experiments but continues to do the unglamorous work of giving them exactly what they need.
Tender C oconut Wate r, Bre a ch C andy Sw im m ing B at h Tr ust .
Fresh Fruit Juices CARROT JUICE - 37 SUGAR CANE JUICE - 43 GANGA JAMUNA - 47 ORANGE JUICE - 47 SWEET LIME JUICE - 47 WATER MELON JUICE - 47 PINEAPPLE JUICE - 49 APPLE JUICE - 53 BLACK GRAPE JUICE - 59 COCKTAIL JUICE - 59 FRUIT PLATTER - 117 MANGO JUICE* - 117 STRAWBERRY JUICE* - 117 POMEGRANATE JUICE - 125 *SEASONAL JUICE
Facing p age: Mango Juice , The Wi l l ingd on Sp or t s C lub.
Tende rloin Steak w ith G arlic But te r S auce , T he Wi l l i ngd on Sp or t s C lub.
Mini Asparag u s Roll , The Wi l l i ngd on Sp or t s C lub.
Fi sh Fingers, R oya l B omb ay Ya cht C lub.
Snacks and Beverages Uttapams
₹
20. PLAIN / ONION / TOMATO
45
21. CHEESE
60
22. IDLIS (3 PIECES) / MEDU WADA (2 PIECES)
40
23. EXTRAS - SAMBAR / CHUTNEY (1 PORTION)
15
SNACKS, EGGS & SANDWICHES Vegetarian Sandwiches 24. CHEESE (HALF / FULL) 25. VEGETABLE (HALF / FULL) 26. VEGETABLE CHUTNEY (HALF / FULL)
40 / 80 25 / 45 25 / 45
27. VEGETABLE CHUTNEY AND CHEES (HALF / FULL)
35 / 65
28. CLUB
90
29. CHEESE & JALEPENO
85
On Toast 30. BAKED BEANS
45
31. MUSHROOMS
60
32. CHILLY CHEESE
65
33. MASALA ALOO AND CHEESE
85
34. HASH BROWN POTATOES (2 PIECES)
65
35. WAFFLES / PANCAKES / FRENCH TOAST
105
SERVED WITH BUTTER OR CREAM AND
HONEY OR MAPLE SYRUP FLAVOURED
36. EXTRAS - BUTTER / CREAM / HONEY / MAPLE
SYRUP (1 PORTION)
25
Non Vegetarian Sandwiches 37. BOILED EGG MAYO (HHALF / FULL) 38. PLAIN OMLETTE (HALF / FULL) 39. MASALA OMLETTE (HALF / FULL)
25 / 45 25 / 45 35 / 65
Continental APPETIZERS Vegetarian
₹
151. GARLIC BREAD / GARLIC BREAD WITH CHEESE
45/80
152. BRUSCHETTA (6 PIECES)
105
153. STUFFED CHEESE MUSHROOMS (6 PIECES)
125
154. CHEESE BALL (8 PIECES)
80
155. FRENCH FRIES
45
Non Vegetarian 156. PRAWN COCKTAIL (6 PIECES)
270
157. BACON WRAPPED PRAWNS (6 PIECES)
475
SOUPS Vegetarian 158. CREAM OF MUSHROOM/SPINACH/TOMATO SOUP
80
159. TOMATO BASIL SOUP
80
160. MULLIGATAWNY SOUP
80
(ADD CHICKEN FOR ₹ 25 EXTRA) 161. MINESTRONE SOUP Non Vegetarian
90
162. CREAM OF CHICKEN SOUP
105
163. FRENCH ONION SOUP
90
SALADS 164. GREEN SALAD
80
165. CURRIMBHOY/RUSSIAN SALAD
125
166. WALDORF SALAD
160
167. CAESAR SALAD (ADD CHICKEN FOR ₹ 20 EXTRA)
145
SALADS CHOICE OF PENNE / SPAGHETTI / FARFALLE / MACARONI / FUSSILLI Vegetarian 168. ARRABIATA SAUCE / PESTO / FORMAGGIO FUNGI
190
Ab ove: French f r ies , Bre a ch C andy Sw im m ing B at h Tr ust . Facing p age: Chocolate Molte n , Bre a ch C andy Sw im mi ng B at h Tr ust .
Ham and Chees e S andw ich, C r i cke t C lub of Ind i a .
T h e C r i c ke t C l u b o f I n d i a ( CC I ) w a s i n co r p o r a t e d i n N e w D e l h i o n 8 t h N o v e m b e r 1 9 3 3 , t o p ro m o t e t h e g a m e o f c r i c ke t a s w e l l a s o t h e r s p o r t s , w i t h i n t h e co u n t r y. I t s co n t r i b u t i o n s t o a l l s p o r t s , e s p e c i a l ly t o c r i c ke t , h a v e g i v e n i t a u n i g u e p o s i t i o n i n t h e h i s t o r y n o t o n ly o f I n d i a b u t t h e e n t i re w o r l d . T h e p re s e n t S t a d i u m & C l u b h o u s e w a s b u i l d o n re c l a i m e d l a n d a b u t t i n g t h e A r a b i a n S e a , w h i c h w a s g r a n t e d b y t h e t h e n G o v e r n e r o f B o m b a y , L o rd B r a b o u r n e , a f t e r w h o m e t h e CC I ’s w o r l d fa m o u s B r a b o u r n e S t a d i u m w a s n a m e d . B e s i d e s c r i c ke t , t h e CC I a l s o p ro m o t e s t e n n i s , b a d m i n t o n , s q u a s h , b i l l i a rd s a n d s n o o ke r , a n d s w i m m i n g , w i t h m a n y p re s t i g i o u s i n t e r n a t i o n a l e v e n t s , i n c l u d i n g AT P To u r n a m e n t s b e i n g h e l d h e re . The Brabourne Stadium has also hosted grand cultural events and concerts which include performances by music legends such as John McLaughlin, Placido Domingo, Zubin Mehta, Bryan Adams and The Rolling Stones. Today, the CCI continues to be a leader of sport in India and is recognized as one of the most prestigious clubs in the country and has reciprocal arrangements with leading sports clubs all over the world.
Without doubt the Pool Side Glance is one of the most frequented areas of the club. Situated adjacent to the historic pool where G.R. Viswanath’s sixer once landed, this area is popularly referred to as the “Coffee Shop” and is open daily, from the early hours till late evening. One may enjoy a delightful range of snacks, pizzas, pastas and light meals here. Club Sandwiches, South-Indian Fare such as Dosas and Wadas, as well as Cutlets and Spaghetti, are just some of the many treats available.
Chilli Chees e Toastie , Bre a ch C andy Sw im m ing B at h Tr ust .
Reception , The Wi l l ingd on Sp or t s C lub.
IV
SO CIALISING Everything about the city of Mumbai seems to be a hyperbole: the population, the cultures and ethnicities, the traffic. It is no surprise that it is commonly referred to as “maximum city.� As the city continues to expand skyward and infrastructure developments eat away at the few remaining public spaces, it has gotten harder and harder to get away from the madness.
For the lucky few with club memberships, the situation isn’t quite so dire. Clubs were modelled on colonial memories of England, built as a comforting escape from the exotic outdoors and the natives. Today, they play many different roles for an increasingly diverse set of members. They serve as excellent sports facilities, with year-round coaching and classes, and club teams and competitive events. Every summer the pool is filled with toddlers in colourful floats getting their first swim lessons. The restaurants and bars are used for birthday parties, Sunday breakfasts and as a fallback on weekdays when the cook doesn’t show up. For the older members, the bridge rooms, libraries and verandahs are the nuclei of their social lives in retirement, giving them a sense of routine and purpose. The club in today’s Bombay is an adaptable social space: it can be anything to anyone, and this versatility explains its enduring relevance. There is magic in the decidedly different energy that all these interactions bring, especially the contrast between an energetic rugby team’s post-practice drinking rituals and the tranquil gathering and habits of the club’s senior-most members, and the way they centre around eating and drinking.
Pool side , C r icke t C lub of Ind i a .
Ab ove, Facing p age: Pool side , Bre a ch C andy Sw im m i ng B at h Tr ust .
Ab ove, Fa c i ng p age : Bre a ch C andy Sw i mmi ng B at h Tr ust
Sw imming Pool, Bre a ch C andy Sw im m ing B at h Tr ust .
e s ea
.. Pl K I Nd ly no t e it is man da to r y to sh ower b ef o r e swi mmi ng
Sw imming Pool , Bre a ch C andy Sw i mmi ng B at h Tr ust .
Sw imming Pool , Bre a ch C andy Sw i mmi ng B at h Tr ust .
Maidan, B omb ay Gy m k hana .
Ab ove, Facing p age: At Rugby Prac tice , B omb ay Gy m k hana .
At Football Prac tice , B omb ay Gy m k hana .
When it comes to male bonding, there is no occasion more iconic than teammates drinking together after practice. Luckily, gentleman’s clubs in England were built on exactly this premise, and it is no surprise that this concept appealed to cricket, rugby and polo players across the Empire as well. The purpose of clubs has always been to promote sport and social mingling between men of a certain social rank, making post-practice bar nights into the building blocks of lifelong friendships, of the kind that could be called brotherhood if one was of a sentimental bent. During the Raj, this bonding took place over chota pegs of watery whiskey sodas or John Collins, a whiskey-based drink which is believed to have been invented by an American at the Royal Bombay Yacht Club after a game of tennis. But it is the allure of the gimlet that has endured in popular imagination as the drink cricket-playing colonials sipped on while cooling off on the club verandah. Today, Indians continue to play the same sports, but team camaraderie takes place in a distinctly rowdier way, bringing some of the Indian flair for celebration inside the civilised walls of the clubs. And this boisterous celebration is naturally accompanied by the grease-laden, deep-fried foods that taste freakishly good when one has been drinking. Paired with the bowls of bar snacks every establishment prides itself on, they comprise a cuisine in its own right. At the Bombay Gymkhana, the 26 members of the club’s men’s rugby team are really good friends. Really, really good friends. Despite ranging in ages from teenagers to middle-aged
fathers, they are a team both on and off the maidan. Barring the minors, of course, they like to change out of their yellow and black striped jerseys and walk down the hall from the gentlemen’s changing room straight into the club bar. The Bombay Gym bar nights are legendary: they are loud and lively, and when you put a bunch of burly rugby players into the mix, things can get a little crazy. This group has swapped the polite gimlets of the Raj with sensible, solid bottles of Kingfisher beer, a local Indian brand, albeit the premium kind; and as the night progresses, someone or other always brings out a bottle of Absolut vodka. Everyone does shots. Bowls of popcorn and peanuts are messily consumed. DJ Ganesh plays his crowd-pleasing playlist of ABBA and Prince. Bets are laid on who will pass out first Amidst the steady drinking and friendly teasing, an IndoChino- Mughlai mixture of dishes is ordered. The juicy chicken kebabs and naans dripping with butter, bright orange chilli chicken garnished with onions and a pot of mutton biryani are perfect to line the stomach with. One wonders whether the club’s predominantly Parsi membership is in part responsible for the sense of joie de vivre visible in this bar night. It might certainly explain how the rugby team, with a handful of cultural backgrounds between them and united only by their South Bombay addresses, are all infected by the passion to earnestly enjoy themselves. At Bombay Gym bar nights, there are only three rules: don’t pick up your drink with your right hand unless you are prepared to down it, don’t hesitate to sing along to Staying Alive in falsetto, and just have fun.
Facing p age: At Rugby Prac tice , B omb ay Gy m k hana .
B allroom, B omb ay Gy m k hana .
King f i sher’s at the B ar, B omb ay Gy m k hana .
Above, Facing page : B ar Night, B omb ay Gy m k hana .
Facing p age: B ar Snack s , B omb ay Gy m k hana .
Ab ove, Facing p age: B ar Night, B omb ay Gy m k hana .
B ar eerSnacks, & Kebabs, B omb B omb ay Gy ay mGy k hana m k hana . .
Br idge Room, B omb ay Gy m k hana .
Br idge Room, B omb ay Gy m k hana .
“Sunday at the club� is an institution, a day of leisure, good food and family time. But for the retired members, every day can be Sunday, without the guilt one would naturally feel for playing bridge at noon on a Tuesday. The club becomes the only space for slow living, indulgences and socialising for a set of members, who have probably seen their parents and grandparents age into the libraries and card rooms and are content to do exactly the same. That isn’t to say that snoozing in an armchair is all they come for. Even the seniormost members actively use the sports facilities and can be found swimming leisurely laps in the pool and looking exasperated by their personal trainers in the gym as they try to work on their back pain. Housie and bridge are played competitively, perhaps reminding the retired businessmen and women of the thrill of the stock market. For their part, the clubs take care of their most loyal members, putting together retro music nights, aqua aerobics classes and seasonal fruitthemed restaurant specials. Mango Mania during the summer is particularly popular. During the day is when they have the club to themselves. Dotted across the verandah one can see old men reading the newspaper, or merely gazing out at the lawn, a pot of chai and some Britannia Marie biscuits tucked away near their elbows. They still come in dressed in crisp shirts and trousers, save for the mischievous few who have switched to floral Hawaiian shirts in retirement. Occasionally someone will get up and amble slowly across the hallway, nodding and winking at the others.
Everyone knows everyone here, and these daytime visitors are almost a secret society. The women exploit this social exclusivity by planning weekly high-teas and lunches for their various friend circles, all of whom are members too. But of course. It is delightful to see the languid mornings interrupted by these women in their pearls and pastel coloured dresses, looking right at home against the delicate floral upholstery patterns of the couches. They share pots of tea, ham and cheese sandwiches and plates of dahi puri, the contemporary Indian idea of finger food. They gossip about their children, complain about their servants and swap recipes for the perfect undhiyo. It is such a relaxed gathering that when ice-cream is mentioned, everyone is ready to indulge, promising that from tomorrow they will be better with their diets. Dark chocolate praline is a favourite, served in stainless steel goblets dripping with condensation in the hot Bombay weather. But as the sun begins to set, newspapers are folded away, card games are conceded and last-minute groceries are purchased. Drivers are summoned to come to the front gates and fond goodbyes are said. At the end of a long day, the seniors retire to their homes, making way for the energetic pursuits of the younger members, biding their time until the next morning when they can reclaim their favourite armchairs once again.
Facing Page: Waiting out side the D ining Hall , B omb ay Gy m k hana .
Ab ove: First Floor , B omb ay Gy m k hana . Facing p age: Verandah , B omb ay Gy m k hana .
The Cricket Club Of India Ltd Members Special Housie will be held on Saturday 25th May 2019 at 5.30 pm at the C.K.Nayudu Hall. VERY ATTRACTIVE PRIZES
1st Full House in all the games will be a Minimum of Rs.1000. 1st Full House in last game will be a Minimum of Rs.10000. Additional Incentives (With 1st Full House) to those playing with Un-broken Set of 6 Rs.200 AND Set of 12 Tickets Rs.400. Light refreshments will be served. Members please bring your Membership Card.
No guests please. Limited seating. Plz come early.
Filte r C offee at the Ve randah, B omb ay Gy m k hana .
D ark Chocolate Praline Ice - Cream at t he Ve randah , T he Wi l l i ngd on Sp or t s C lub.
Siesta Room near Librar y, B omb ay Gy m k hana .
Reception , B omb ay Gy m k hana .
V
SURROUNDINGS For the most part, Bombay’s clubs look like museums of the material conditions of the Raj, frozen in time and pristinely preserved. These Raj relics comprise an eclectic mixture of memorabilia, furniture and commonplace objects which add a dash of colonial drama and conjure up the wonder of time travel when one is sitting, playing or eating in the club.
Waiting Area, B omb ay Gy m k hana .
The B ombay Light Hors e B ell, B omb ay Gy m k hana .
Charg ing Station at the Ve randah, B omb ay Gy m k hana .
Stairca s e , B omb ay Gy m k hana .
Trophies , B omb ay Gy m k hana .
Ab ove: near Stairca s e , B omb ay Gy m k hana . Facing p age: Sug g estion s & C omplaint s B ook , B omb ay Gy m k hana .
S alon, B omb ay Gy m k hana .
Facing p age: Librar y, B omb ay Gy m k hana .
Librar y, B omb ay Gy m k hana .
Ab ove: L obby, Cr i cket C lub of Ind i a . Facing p age: O ff ice , B omb ay Gy m k hana .
The Pav ilion , B omb ay Gy m k hana .
D eco detail , C r icke t C lub of Ind i a .
Hallway, R oya l B omb ay Ya cht C lub.
L ounge , R oy a l B omb ay Ya cht C lub.
Hallway, R oy a l B omb ay Ya cht C lub.
L ounge, R oya l B omb ay Ya cht C lub.