Pune is a city of many things. In many ways, over time, it is becoming a city of more-of-the-same, starting to resemble any other city in India, and soon, like Mumbai or Bengaluru, it will look like any international city. If I were a foreigner and you dropped me blindfolded on MG Road and then opened my eyes, I would be hard-pressed to distinguish it from Bengaluru’s MG Road. If I were to end up inside the lobby of Westin or at a table at, say Malaka Spice, I would not be able to distinguish it from any other city in Europe or Australia. The thing is that globalisation and industrialisation, coupled with the growth of infotech and communication has created copy-cat spaces that are lookalikes in any urban metropolis. You can get as good Singaporean food in Pune as any non-Singapore city in the world, or for that matter as good Italian as any non-Italian city, and so on. As with food, so with fashion, automobiles, gadgets, or spas. We are all slowly homogenising into one international mass.
However, there is indeed one thing Pune has that hasn’t changed, at least from my grandfather’s time (since I have direct information only till about the early 20th century from the horse’s mouth), if not further back. And that is a unique blend of quick-wittedness, cutting sarcasm, and wit, leading to some rather sharp repartee between the residents (when it involves Punekars), or a line thrown with an acerbic tongue at an outsider who, either unable to comprehend the nature of the dialogue or lacking quickness of response, misses out completely on offering a fitting rejoinder, only to realise later that what transpired back there was him/her being pwned, without so much of an “En-garde”. That a hit was scored unbeknownst to their dull brains.To those steeped in the art though, to watch a parry and riposte of Punekars (with the tongue instead of an épée) is sheer poetry! And on Monday last, I found myself in a ringside position to be witness to just such a duel.
Caveat Lector: Parts of this are in Marathi, because such things are lost in translation. It was a bright afternoon on Karve Road and the footpath outside Bipin’s was sparse, with nary a foodie visible for the length of the road as far as the eye could see (and while I wear corrective lenses for reading, I can see far, even in the polluted air that the particular spot has become infamous for, thanks to the Metro that has been just a couple of very short decades in coming).
I had stopped for my usual breakfast of “Khichadi-Kakdi” (Rs.40) and “Vada-Thecha” (Rs.10), something Milind Bapat had introduced me to a while ago, and was enjoying the solitude with a mouth-full of the best Khichadi-Kakdi this side of the Mula (with apologies to PYC’s Appa) when two scooter-borne gentlemen alighted on the scene. One of them got off while the other held the scooter upright (given that it was missing a stand…not unusual for a Bajaj Priya scooter that probably belonged to the said gentleman’s great uncle, and was bought during an era when you threw a party if your “number” came up to receive the vehicle), talking on the phone. Let us call them Shriman Rider (SR) and Shriman Pillion (SP) for brevity’s sake.
So, SR went up to Bipin’s and requested for “दोन खिचड़ी”. As he fumbled with his wallet, SP called out to him, taking his mouth off his phone just long enough to tell him that he wanted the dish with the Kakdi. SR turned around to inform the server (let us call him Puneri Man, or PM) that he wanted to change his order and he now needed “एक खिचड़ी-काकड़ी आणी एक प्लेन”. PM asked for some clarification on that with a “प्लेन म्हणजे?” to which SR, sharpening his tongue retorted, “प्लेन म्हणजे? एवढ्याश्या टपरीत बसून काय जम्बो जेट विकताय? का राफेल? प्लेन म्हणजे प्लेन खिचडी. अजून काय?” Without losing a heartbeat, PM came back with, “ओ मिस्टर, विमाने आमच्या दुसऱ्या दुकानावर मिळतात. जुनाट स्कूटर वर आला आहात म्हणून विचारले.”
I felt like touching their feet…both of them! (गुरुजी, आपले चरणकमल कुठे आहेत?) It is these people that I shall forever be grateful to for keeping me grounded. It is these people, who by not choosing to go into stand-up comedy, are letting other far lesser mortals earn a livelihood. It is these people who keep Pune, well, Pune. My heart swelled. My eyes teared up. It was a beautiful moment. And then, it was gone.
Long live this city. Long live Pune. And long live Bipin’s Khichadi-Kakdi. My city is in good hands.
Later Edit: As an aside, this morning, when I dragged Natasha Singh-Gadgil out to savour the Khichadi-Kakdi at Bipin’s, while leaving, she thanked the server. As soon as she did that, he turned around and asked if she had paid for her plate, and upon receiving a reply in the affirmative, told her that her thank you was unnecessary
(His exact words were: “पैसे दिलेत नं ? मग?”). Only a real Punekar will understand the subtlety of this. Non-Punekars: you have no clue what you are missing. Or, in short, you have no clue!
