A bite into reality

Mumbai has its Irani restaurants, Delhi its dhabas and Bangalore has its darshinis. They are not the same. Each one defines the city and is a kind of urban culinary dhobi mark, the cochineal dye that marks a city’s class system. These are not the soulless Panda Express and McDonalds of the west. They have character, an indefinable cultural fibre that lets you overlook the fact that the crockery is chipped, the spoons are greasy and the paper napkins non-existent. But today’s consumer is turning unforgiving, has little or no emotional attachment to urban folklore and, let’s admit it, is distracted by options. In Bangalore’s case, the options are round the next BDA complex. And this simple fact places a big question mark on the future of darshinis, Bangalore’s on-the-go snack and meal outlets.

Darshinis were supposed to be clean, cheap and simple places where Bangalore’s middle class could find a fluffy idli or a crisp dosa with wholesome coconut chutney, a mild sambhar and a great cup of filter coffee. At a price point that was unbeatable. The problem is that Bangalore’s middle class has changed. And with it, Bangalore’s collective taste bud has flowered, bloomed, and is waiting for attention. But the darshini kitchen is stuck in the Bangalore of the 1980s, desperately seeking meaning in a world that demands UV-treated water, innovative menus and some semblance of ambiance.

In the 1980s, a darshini could take advantage of the very ambiance the city presented — green, cool, unhurried, peaceful. The character of the footpaths  was different (to begin with, footpaths  were there; today, you’d be hard pressed to find them) and a darshini could set its simple stainless steel table facing the street and, in many instances, on the street. Today, a darshini needs to provide shelter from the very street it’s on. But doesn’t.

Eating amidst the noise and clatter of cutlery, braving your way through the humble vada sambhar can turn you against south Indian cuisine. Especially when you have the option of digging into a chickpea salad or a croissant sandwich stuffed with Chettinad paneer next door at the shining new eatery. The Chettinad paneer may sound faux and unauthentic and will surely go down into the history of crossover cuisine as a culinary aberration but there you are… reality bites.

Darshinis need to become innovative and provide food that not only preserves local cuisine but also adds to it, catering to the needs of a growing multicultural population. Their owners need to do a reality check by standing in front of Bangalore Cantonment Station and observe the diverse ethnicity of the people coming into the city. Bangalore is, to use local IT idiom, transforming. Its culinary demands have evolved, and so must the very architecture of its food. 

And what have darshinis done to meet the new demands? Some of them have begun to offer what passes for Chinese and North Indian food — the hysterically labelled  gobi manchuri, fried rice that doubtless comes from Shanghai via Udupi, naan and vegetable kurma that also, somehow, swings by Mangalore or thereabouts before landing on a darshini plate, stripped of any Chinese or north-Indian flavour it may have had at the origin of its journey.

In 2004, the BBMP passed an order that required the staff of darshinis (and all restaurants) to wear caps and aprons and ensure that the water served was UV treated. Just visible adherence to hygiene norms would instill some confidence in ordering food at a darshini. But today, you need a stomach lined with steel to venture into one. 

In 1983, R Prabhakar, an entrepreneur, started what would become the local equivalent of a Panda Express or a McDonalds. Inspired by the fastfood chains abroad, he started the first darshini called ‘Cafe Darshini’ in Jayanagar. The darshini model focused on tasty, quick and efficiently produced local food at an affordable price. Volumes contributed to profits, not style, élan or exotica. This model was so successful that by 2000, there were an estimated 5,000 darshinis in Bangalore, turning out a reported 50 to 60 lakh meals a day. Today, their numbers have shrunk to 3,000 — clearly a growing opportunity in curd rice and coffee has been frittered away. Upahara Darshini in Basavanagudi, Ganesh
Darshini in Jayanagar and thousands like them are doomed because they have not responded to change. A cultural landmark, with its stainless steel plates and cups, Kota Brahmin fastidiousness, and simple charms, is about to be wiped away. Pity that darshinis appear to be an idea whose time has gone.