It takes us more than an hour to reach the destination, driving by the narrow blocked arteries of Chennai and then, the open deserted roads of Kelambakkam in the outskirts. Braving the slap and sting of the sun, with a coat of sticky dust on our faces, we take a break for snack at a small heaven of ‘chaat’, the Mumbai Café.
It looks as if the whole of Mumbai has been crammed into an area of just over 600 square feet. Every inch of the wall takes you back to Mumbai—be it a handsome Rajesh Khanna staring at you from a poster of 1970s blockbuster Anand or a photo of colour-slathered faces targeting pichkaris at each other or phrases like ‘Dimag ki batti mat jala’.
Even as we take a look at the iconic Gateway of India and the Dalal Street opening up on the wall through frames, Nilesh Naidu, co-founder of the one-year-old restaurant, says their aim is to make one feel at home. “We just don’t want to serve food, we want people to feel the apnapan, we want them to feel at home,” he says. His voice drowns out by some old Marathi music playing in the background, and the sound of sizzling ghee as Nilesh’s wife, Jyot, turns the paratha over on the pan.
We make ourselves comfortable on the small plastic stools and order paani puri and cutting chai. But the smell of misal pav and the sight of ghee-dripping parathas make us slaves to the temptation, and the orders pile up.
Serving the orders, Nilesh comes in for another little chat. “I have had people travel 20 kilometres just to have our cutting chai,” he says. After taking the first sip, we cannot agree more. “The paani puris are ditto of the ones available on Mumbai streets, complete with crispy puris and the sweet and spicy chutney. I have been to places in Chennai where the puri water tastes just like rasam,” Nilesh says, gently swaying his head in disappointment.
And not just paani puri, they aren’t happy with the way Chinese food taste in most of the restaurants of south India. “They don’t taste like how they are supposed to. The same is applicable for vada paav,” Jyot chips in.
Recollecting the days when she would come down to Chennai with her husband to meet relatives in Kelambakkam, Jyot admits that the idea to start something new, started from there.
“I used to scour the place and try out the cuisine here. I am a Gujarati, and I found it very hard to survive on idlis and dosas here. So we thought why not we start something ourselves?” she says.
Both Nilesh and Jyot, who were born and brought up in Mumbai, saw Chennai as a good market to pursue their passion for food. They quit their plush corporate jobs to build on their restaurant brand.
“Once we decided we were going to do this, I started what I call the seven-month experiment. I carried an extra dabba of food for my office colleagues just to see how well they liked my wife’s food. I wanted to see the first reaction,” he recollects. “When I was serving the notice period, I came to Chennai and would call my friends over every day to feed them chaat items. We wanted to get their reaction.”
For the initial six months, Jyot did all the cooking, and both of them managed cleaning, behind-the-counter work and would even do home deliveries themselves. “It was very tough. I even lost money,” Nilesh says.
But things have changed for the better now. With local residents, students from nearby colleges and IT employees coming down to unwind, the café is filled with people in the evenings. “Many times we just get blessings from people, and we just need that,” smiles Nilesh.