BEFORE THE FOOD arrived to serve our turn, another person entered. My friend poked my elbow and said, “Your elder uncle is arriving.” The moment I heard this, I stood up as if a scorpion had stung me and decamped from there. My friend followed me.
This “elder uncle” was a cousin of my father, akin to an elder brother. His name was Sheenappa. He hailed from Somattanahalli. I hadn’t seen Sri Sheenappa till then but had only heard his name.
Sheenappa had taken bath and finished his Sandhyavandanam before coming here. His forehead was smeared with Vibhuti. His hair, which was still wet after bath was dangling and held together with a knot. A Rumal covered his head. He was dressed in a coat and silk cloth and wore rings on the fingers of both hands. He worked as a clerk in the huge Mandi.
Sri Sheenappa’s financial condition was quite good. He owned a house and some land. He was loud and aggressive by nature and was very orthodox in his outlook. He used to perform the Suryanamaskara every Sunday. I learnt all these details much later in life.
There was a reason I fled from the hotel the moment he stepped in: it was not proper to be seen in a hotel by elders. This was the social norm of that period. Those who ate in hotels were regarded as uncultured and belonging to a lower rank; it was not good form – this was the public climate of those days. The only people who would go to hotels were those who came from out of town and had no other accommodation; or those like Sri Sheenaappa, who were widowers. Eating hotel meals was not a mark of good conduct. This was the general social consensus of the era. I adhered to it.
After we both emerged from Venkanna’s hotel, we didn’t stray too far away from it but hung around in the general vicinity. Fifteen or twenty minutes passed. Then, after we saw our Sheenappa coming out, we went inside once again. Sri Venkanna asked us:
“Why did you scoot like thieves?”
We told the truth.
Sri Venkanna: “Oho! Is that so? Shall I tell Sheenappa?”
We were laughing by now. After that, it was our turn to eat the dosas. It had a fine consistency. Both consistency and taste – aren’t these great qualities in any preparation?
Sri Venkanna’s hotel was divided into three parts using a canopy made of wooden planks:
(1) The first division was in the front portion of the kitchen. It displayed this notice: “for Vaidika Brahmanas only.”
(2) The second compartment displayed a notice that said, “for Laukika [worldly] Brahmanas only.”
(3) The third read, “for non-Brahmins.”
Beyond the third compartment, a huge drum filled with water was placed on a stool. Next to it was a large bucket. On another stool was placed a newspaper containing Shikhakai powder and a scrap of old Dhoti.
The Dosa patrons had to drop their plantain leaves in the bucket. Then they would take a bit of the Shikhakai powder in their hand, open the tap of the water drum, wash their hands, and if they so wished, wiped their hands dry using the scrap of dhoti. Then they returned inside and sat in their assigned places as before.
Coffee would now arrive. There was an unwritten law of Sri Venkanna that said that while drinking it, the edge of the coffee cup should not touch the lips; it had to be lifted up slightly and the liquid should directly enter the mouth.
I’m not exaggerating in the least. Sri Venkanna was an extremely strict and systematic man. If anybody violated the aforementioned rule even slightly, he would be ruthless: “Please take this cup and throw it there and come back.” Therefore, people who went there were those who discerned both taste and hygiene. His was not a “Janata” (mass) hotel.
Neither did Sri Venkanna aspire to attract the “Janata.” Excluding Sunday, only four or five people would come there for meals. Sri Venkanna strictly prohibited a sixth person.
On Saturday afternoons, people would come for some light snacks. Sri Venkanna would offer them two items of light tiffin: a Rava Ladoo, and Kodubale; or a spicy ball made of Moong Dal and some Ompudi; or Sajjappa [a sweet dish] and spicy Avalakki [flat rice].
These delicacies would be exhausted by five in the evening. I’ve come back empty-handed even when I went there at 5:15 p.m. On Sundays—as I have described earlier—Dosa, Chutney and coffee were the only items on the menu, prepared only for a specific number of people.
Sri Venkanna’s friends would ask him: “Hotels are newly sprouting up in the city. Can’t you change your style of business?” I have myself heard Sri Venkanna’s reply: “This much of earning is enough to fill my stomach sir. Do you want me to lose my tradition and discipline by opting to earn more money? Whatever God has given me is more than sufficient.”
After two or three years following the aforementioned period, a competition of sorts arose in the hotel business. A dispute regarding prices arose between a hotel near the Kalamma Temple and another in Chickpet. The first one advertised, “One Dosa and curry for six kaasu.” The other, “One Dosa and curry for five kaasu.” The six-kaasu guy reduced his price to four. In response, the five-kassu guy reduced his price to three. This went on for a couple of months. Then a rumour began to circulate in town: “You say that the Dosa in that fellow’s hotel is very tasty. You know why? Because it contains egg.” After this sort of news began to spread, business at both places nosedived. What followed was a two-month-long public furore.
In later years, the name that rose to prominence in the hotel business in Bangalore was Sri K.T. Appanna’s Hindu Coffee Club.
Concluded
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