Last day. Last dosa

Last day. Last dosa

The line was long and winding, but there was quietness and good humour in the air. The composition of the crowd gave no indication of why they were waiting so patiently. Young couples, old and frail elders, teenagers, college students, single women—all with a shared quest. Was it to have the iconic Masala Dosa, the delectable button Idlis, or the healthy and stomach-filling Ragi Dosa one last time?

Perhaps it was to be there at the end, as one lady confided, “I am not a great fan of this food, but I had to be here on the last day.” Photographs were being taken, and memories were being exchanged. “We have been coming for 50 years now.”

“All our family gatherings happened here.”

“Our parents used to bring us here after school.” Slowly, we inched closer to the next stage, which was to give our names and numbers to a person barely recognisable now as the dapper young man we knew from our regular visits. Mopping his brow every now and then, his voice tired and gravelly with the calling out of names, he stood firm and unyielding to cajoling and pleas from people who cited age, infirmity, or wailing and hungry infants. The queue’s the thing, he seemed to repeat over and over.

But overall, there was camaraderie and bonhomie in the air. People exchanged notes with one another on how long they had been coming to this place and what their favourite dish was. When I asked a lady how long a wait it might be, she politely admonished me, “You don’t feel that it’s a long wait. You enjoy the atmosphere and the chats.” True. 

It was time for us to be ushered in, and we entered wondering if the place would convey the momentous occasion. But no—all was as usual. The bustling waiters, the cleaning boys, the women at the cashier desks, and even the items we could choose to order. As we waited, a threesome sat at our table and began to tell us that it was their family who originally started this place. Apparently the present owner’s father was reluctant to buy it and was offered an Ambassador car as a bonus! True or not, the story blended with an air of nostalgia.

As we walked out, replete with food and encounters, we saw the owner, and it seemed a fitting finale to thank him and wish him well. The lines were longer now, but the good-natured acceptance was still in force. A young woman obligingly crossed the busy road to take a picture of us. Do I need to tell you the name of this place? The New Krishna Bhavan, of course!