Downpour Of Memories At Samovar

What is it about old places that tugs at our hearts? Café Samovar, that squeezes itself between the Jehangir Art Gallery and a lush garden, whose space it hasn't gobbled, will down shutters on March 31. I was reluctant to write this piece because I thought, who knows, maybe, just maybe, it will get yet another extension (as it has happened in the past) and I will continue to troop down for my quota of paranthas, kheema, chai and pakoras and an hour of a feeling that is a perfect blend of fun and bliss. Is there a word for that? 

How does one write an obit about a place that will perhaps never cease to be in your subconscious and imagination? For me Samovar started out as an "arty farty" place where "cool" people intellectualise about stuff that matters to "uncommon" people. (I am one of those Bollywood buffs who claps for Deepika saying "dance is aart" in Happy New Year) However, as smooth as the beer they served or as smoothly as they change their décor for every changing season, it grew on me and how. 

I may have the dubious distinction of once cackling with my friends in Samovar so loud that MF Husain got us to shut up through the doting staff. (If am not mistaken only he was allowed at the only table of six without actually being a group of six). That was the only time I ever saw him, when I was neither politically aware of his importance to this country nor a real art lover. The same doting staff would later remember what I like and what I don't and recommend (rather force with much affection) to eat what they thought was best on that day. 

Samovar is walkable from Regal Cinema, right across Sessions court (where I spent hours waiting for verdicts, orders and court room drama), Elphinstone College, the Bombay High Court, Flora Fountain, Fort, Museum, National Gallery of Modern Art and Rhythm House. So no matter what you are – lawyer, student, shopper, movie/music buff, reporter and most importantly an artist – you would at some point end up in Samovar for their paratha and yummy tangy and spicy chutneys, which are served on each table at all times. (I even eat my sandwiches with those). (Not to mention the gallery has a pay and use toilet – a luxury for women in our country). 

Long before any of the fancy places such as Barista, the Pantry and the Kala Ghoda Café started, Samovar would seem expensive to people like us but now it feels more than affordable for the experience it offers (the ready chai is the cheapest and perhaps the most sold out item). More often than not, while waiting for friends, I would peep into the Art Gallery and if something caught my eye I would enter with hesitation. There have been times when some paintings influenced me so much that without really planning to I have stood their speechless, in complete awe and admiration of the artist. 

I made some long lasting friendships while munching on food at Samovar and I continue to cherish those times. The place also must have played a part in those memories. The latest fun outing was with my dad and husband – both foodies to the core – who hogged on kheema and paratha and boti rolls. The manager, who was extra sweet to my dad that day, told me that he was worried about the future of the hotel staff of 19-20 as they may not be absorbed by the Gallery authorities. 

What I will miss the most is an afternoon of heavy downpour spent in Samovar, reading the lovely poetry they put up on the wall-side of the restaurant as you can feel the lushest of greens smiling at you from the other side. Why can't you wait for one last monsoon? One last plum juice? One last coffee, as I like it and you know it? 

Here is my favourite lines (courtesy Eurythmics) that come up every monsoon at Samovar, 

Here comes the rain again 
Falling on my head like a memory 
Falling on my head like a new emotion 
I want to walk in the open wind 
I want to talk like lovers do 
I want to dive into your ocean 
Is it raining with you?