Mahanaaz
Cafe Mahanaaz, one of Pune's oldest and the last few Irani cafes left in the city, shut today. I have no particular attachment to Mahanaaz, in fact no attachment at all. But today as I sat there on the steps with a grey empty space at the back, the shutters half way down and talked to the manager, I couldn't help but feel immensely sad and began to miss the place I hardly went to.
Memories. That word must have featured a hundred times in our conversation. Until today, I never imagined that one tacky cafe and a coupla oily veg samosas can bind people from all classes and all backgrounds. But today, when the manager told me about the old lady from Kothrud, the MLA on his way to Bombay and the group of journalists -- all of whom came for their last cup of chai and samosa at Mahanaaz on it's last day --- it made me realise how something as unobvious as Mahanaaz brought people together, people who would have never crossed paths otherwise, had it not been for this Irani cafe.
As he spoke with tears welling up in his eyes, reminiscing about an era that was now coming to an end, I too felt nostalgic. Nostalgic not just about the restaurant, but about the unkempt but so very personal commercial establishments of the years gone by, which are now making place for the swanky new multinational chains that satisfy your every materialistic whim and fancy, but won't have the token fat old Bawa uncle chuckling away and telling you about his son going to phoren land for studies.
When Naaz (another old Irani cafe) shut some years ago and Barista took it's place, I wrote a short essay for college about that....about bidding adieu to cutting chai at 5 am and saying hello to sipping on cafe latte topped with whipped cream while street kids stare at you through the intimidating glass windows. And I got an A+ for it.... "When you feel strongly about something, it shows," said my teacher.
Now, Mahanaaz is shut. Adidas is gonna take it's place. And I guess I will write about it again...... about bidding adieu to the dim-lit old cafe round the corner where Uncle wants to know how come you're done with college so soon today, and saying hello to the glare of the tubelights from the swanky new store and trying on shoes you can't afford while street kids stare at you through intimidating glass windows.
Cafe Mahanaaz, one of Pune's oldest and the last few Irani cafes left in the city, shut today. I have no particular attachment to Mahanaaz, in fact no attachment at all. But today as I sat there on the steps with a grey empty space at the back, the shutters half way down and talked to the manager, I couldn't help but feel immensely sad and began to miss the place I hardly went to.
Memories. That word must have featured a hundred times in our conversation. Until today, I never imagined that one tacky cafe and a coupla oily veg samosas can bind people from all classes and all backgrounds. But today, when the manager told me about the old lady from Kothrud, the MLA on his way to Bombay and the group of journalists -- all of whom came for their last cup of chai and samosa at Mahanaaz on it's last day --- it made me realise how something as unobvious as Mahanaaz brought people together, people who would have never crossed paths otherwise, had it not been for this Irani cafe.
As he spoke with tears welling up in his eyes, reminiscing about an era that was now coming to an end, I too felt nostalgic. Nostalgic not just about the restaurant, but about the unkempt but so very personal commercial establishments of the years gone by, which are now making place for the swanky new multinational chains that satisfy your every materialistic whim and fancy, but won't have the token fat old Bawa uncle chuckling away and telling you about his son going to phoren land for studies.
When Naaz (another old Irani cafe) shut some years ago and Barista took it's place, I wrote a short essay for college about that....about bidding adieu to cutting chai at 5 am and saying hello to sipping on cafe latte topped with whipped cream while street kids stare at you through the intimidating glass windows. And I got an A+ for it.... "When you feel strongly about something, it shows," said my teacher.
Now, Mahanaaz is shut. Adidas is gonna take it's place. And I guess I will write about it again...... about bidding adieu to the dim-lit old cafe round the corner where Uncle wants to know how come you're done with college so soon today, and saying hello to the glare of the tubelights from the swanky new store and trying on shoes you can't afford while street kids stare at you through intimidating glass windows.
posted by HawaHawaii at 2:07 PM
4 Comments:
hey...awesome article...dat's so true...i hope vohuman does not have the same fate...or does it...? i have no idea abt the recent happenings in pune commerical dealings....but hope pune does not let go of it's character...good stuff complangirl...
@quidam: vohuman was the first place i thot of when i heard mahanaaz is shutting. gonna go check it out today and see what their plan is.
Mahanaaz shut!!??!! Man, being a Vincentian, we used to regularly go there and have those oily samosas you mentioned...And they were YUM...I did think of Vohuman too...
"Now, Mahanaaz is shut. Adidas is gonna take it's place. And I guess I will write about it again...... about bidding adieu to the dim-lit old cafe round the corner where Uncle wants to know how come you're done with college so soon today, and saying hello to the glare of the tubelights from the swanky new store and trying on shoes you can't afford while street kids stare at you through intimidating glass windows." -> Amazing.
oh, what a pity about mahanaaz - i loved the cheap food in pune when i was there for two years... scoped out all the best and cheapest joints ;) is lucky at deccan still there? and naaz? vohuman? loved your blog, btw! and here's a link to a bit of the 80s - i think - on ours... http://aniamit.blogspot.com/2006/05/mere-paas-supremo-hai_114829740077980685.html
sorry - i figured the link is way too long but don't know how to shorten it!
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