City regulars believe that Kala Ghoda Cafe is “a vibe”. But so was the shuttered Cafe Samovar. Bombaywallahs swear by both spaces, and so we must ask — can a cafe represent a city?
Cafe Samovar. File pic
I am tempted to visualise the vocal arguments and possibly, even fisticuffs that could emerge among fans of either cafe as they read the headline and strap of this column; as each side pitches a laundry list of why their cafe is cooler. The neutrals will smile that both are quintessentially Bombay, and Mumbai, and maybe, get a shade nostalgic that ‘Sams’ [Cafe Samovar, for its regulars] isn’t around.
Truth is the former was a cultural landmark; an adda for the city’s theatre, arts, textiles-loving community, where its snack-heavy, VFM menu did a fantastic job of feeding loyal patrons. The latter, at least going by the diverse crowds it attracts, has already graduated to become a certified hangout for Bombaywallahs; tourists also prefer to do a dekko while in the city. Its F&B menu is a standout, and a game-changer, with its smart mix of casual dining-meets-cafe and wine bar favourites.
We aren’t taking sides here–the intent is to not draw parallels but to put a thought into perspective — Can a cafe represent a city? Can it become the ‘it’ place where its citizens relate to as their comfort zone; a place that lives and breathes it in spirit?
Kala Ghoda Cafe
While on a recent visit to Kala Ghoda Cafe (KGC) this thought crossed my mind, as I seated myself in a favourite corner, and did some good old-fashioned people-watching [try it; it’s much better than staring aimlessly at your screen]. As I held on to snatches of conversation and unfiltered utterances at this eating space that is a cross between a laidback cafe to hang with friends and family, and a networking hub, I wondered if it had gradually created enough goodwill to stake a claim for that prestigious crown–the one that Cafe Samovar proudly wore for decades before it shuttered in May 2015. Same neighbourhood, set apart by a few metres, and here was another generation of patrons chilling in a buzzing hotspot. But is this where the similarity ends?
Over my chicken-lime chutney sandwich and masala chai, I moved from present to past, rolling back to my student days. As a group of impressionable collegians, waiting to explore SoBo beyond our suburban confines, our collective pocket money and endless levels of patience [to nab a vacant table] offered us entry into a space that we soon realised was the heartbeat and sanctuary for the cultural and arts movement in the city.
Sipping on cups of pudina chai, indulging in crispy bhajias and keema parathas, we’d gaze at the sweeping panoramic view of the crescent-shaped complex that housed the Prince of Wales Museum (today’s Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Vastu Sangrahalaya). Of course, the chatter that wafted across the vestibular-shaped space, draped in vibrant desi decor, gave us giggly teens an inexplicable high. In the 1990s and early 2000s, it was our version of social media, including the celeb-spotting.
All these delicious tidbits would be reported on the following day to the lesser mortals at college who didn’t accompany us. Later, as we stepped into the big, bad professional world, Samovar continued to be our preferred haunt–be it for a quick bite in between assignments, a place to flesh out our jottings and observations post endless trails while researching for our books, or the place to interview folks who would happily pick the cafe over the many swanky air-conditioned spaces that mushroomed in and around Kalaghoda by the early 2000s.
A loud cackle emanating from the adjacent larger table, made up of mostly upwardly mobile SoBoites who all boasted of second homes in Alibaug [their version of the Hamptons], brought us back to 2025. From friendly banter over whose organic farm grew healthier mangoes, to the big misses on their holiday across southern Greece, and who owned the chic saree crafted by a bright new indie designer, it made me smile. The conversation and characters had changed, and with it, countless other layers. Would this group have entered Samovar if it were around today? Your guess is as good as mine.
Still, it isn’t that KGC doesn’t have enough Mumbai/Bombay sass flowing through its veins. As I sat at the cafe, polishing off the last crumbs of my delish sandwich, the penny had dropped. I was witnessing a passage of time; a transition of the city and its people, and by default, its cafe culture. It was the swivel door concept in full view — people, ideas and our ecosystems have changed, and new avatars have taken their places. So yes, a cafe can be reflective of a city. Such spaces act as brilliantly insightful living-breathing laboratories of modern-day societies; the perfect setting to observe a city that is in constant churn.
mid-day’s Features Editor Fiona Fernandez relishes the city’s sights, sounds, smells and stones... wherever the ink and the inclination take her.
She tweets @bombayana. Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com
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