A 95-year-old cold drink house returns as The Girgaum Kitchen, keeping alive the flavours, memories, and resilience of a neighbourhood that once fed Mumbai’s soul
(L to R) Hiren Welling, Bharat Gothoskar and Omkar Narvekar at The Girgaun Kitchen at Khadilkar Marg, Girgaon. Pic/Shadab Khan
At the heart of one of the city’s oldest and layered neighbourhoods, with its narrow lanes, crumbling but striking chawls, vibrant markets, and centuries-old traditions, Girgaon (aka Girgaum) is where Mumbai’s heritage comes alive.
But change is coming. Under the Girgaon cluster development plan, many of the old buildings will soon give way to high-rises, as part of the Mumbai Metro Line 3 project that includes two new stations — Girgaon and Kalbadevi. The project promises progress, but also marks the end of an era as familiar courtyards, shared balconies, and beloved eateries face transformation. Just before that happens, Bharat Gothoskar, founder of Khaki Tours, has teamed up with Omkar Narvekar and Hiren Welling to transform his maternal family’s 95-year-old establishment into The Girgaum Kitchen, preserving the area’s culinary heritage and continuing the Dalvi family’s legacy.
Bharat Gothoskar sharing his family legacy with a group of Maharashtrian food enthusiasts gathered to preview the dishes that will shape its core menu
At 5 pm on a Wednesday, we wound our way through the narrow bylanes of Kandawadi’s Khadilkar Road, best known for its wedding invite shops and gift box stores. Tucked into a quiet corner stands Prakash Cold Drink House, where a seat by the window offers a view of Girgaon in miniature — intimate, organised, and full of life.
What began as a modest chai tapri in the 1930s, started by sub-inspector Krishnarao Dalvi as a retirement plan, grew into a beloved cold drink house that once served soda and ice cream. In 2025, with the space now revived as The Girgaum Kitchen, Sunday mid-day joined a group of Maharashtrian food lovers to sample the dishes that will form the heart of its menu.
A view of Prakash Cold Drink House that shuttered a month ago to make way for The Girgaum Kitchen
Inside, a coat of warm yellow evokes the homes of the Konkan coast, setting the tone for nostalgia. Scattered through the space are relics from the Dalvi household — a vintage orange tin trunk with Go for Gold Spot emblazoned across it, complete with a built-in bottle opener, a traditional modak patra (steamer), and a charming collection of everyday knick-knacks that quietly tell stories of another time.
Methkut Bhaat Toop; (right) Kande Pohe
We began with the kothimbir wadi, crisped on an iron tawa instead of the usual deep-fried, which gave it a rich, toasty edge without losing the delicate flavour of coriander; the batatavada, along with its Jain counterpart made with raw banana, struck a balance between comfort and crunch; three types of pohe — kanda, dadpe, and Karwari — each held their own, distinct in texture and spice, designed to be part of a poha platter where you could sample them side by side; the misal came packed with bold, punchy masalas and “zhanzhanit” tari that warms you up from inside, while the amboli with black chana usal was hearty and homely, perfect for soaking up the gravied goodness; the metkut bhaat and varan bhaat toop, simple yet deeply satisfying, felt like a warm hug; Kaape, baskets of rawa-fried brinjal discs, experimental sabudana poppers (not so much our favourite), dhondus (cucumber cake), and the show-stealing Sukarande PP bomb added playful and nostalgic notes of eating the puranpoli mixture before it was added to the dough and rolled into polis — each bite part of a larger story drawn from memory, season, spice and ‘toop’. For this writer, with roots in a Konkani household, it was more than a meal; it was homecoming.
Kothimbir Wadi; (right) Misal
As we drove back through the narrow lanes lined with shops, old Maharashtrian homes, temples, community halls, and modest eateries, we took in the old-world charm — perhaps for the last time before the skyline shifts. And yet, we carry hope that the spirit of Girgaon will live on — in its stories, its recipes, and the people who continue to keep its legacy alive.
The space is dotted with mementos from the Dalvi home — a bright orange tin trunk, a well-worn modak patra; and everyday objects that whisper stories from another time
From Prakash to The Girgaum Kitchen
Born in 1896 to freedom fighter and advocate Sitaram Dalvi and Sonabai, Krishnarao Dalvi joined the Mumbai Police in 1917 as one of the first Indian sub-inspectors. This move displeased his nationalist father. In 1922, he married against his family’s wishes, losing his inheritance. He opened a chai tapri in Kandewadi in 1930 as part of his retirement plan, and by 1936, it had become a cold-drink house, which he named Prakash Cold Drink House after the birth of his second son.
In 1942, Krishnarao was awarded the Indian Police Medal for Distinguished Conduct, but died four years later during a CID operation in Kashmir. His son Narayan, just 22, briefly took over before passing away from typhoid in 1948. His wife Rukhminibai kept the shop running while raising four young children, until she died in 1951, after which 15-year-old Baby, the eldest daughter, took charge.
By 1955, Prakash, then 17, began managing the shop, eventually expanding it into a communications centre and video game parlour. The shop was renovated in 1978 to include ice cream, but faced damage during the 1993 riots when soda bottles were used as improvised weapons.
After Prakash’s passing in 2010, his sisters Sudha and Aparna, along with nephew Bharat, revived it as a snacks joint which served the community till last month and will continue to do so in its new avatar —The Girgaum Kitchen.
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