My favourite mutton shop is in the hodgepodge of a lane in the underbellies of Powai. It's a family run establishment where everyone puts in their bit, led from the front by a slender, unbeautiful, fiftyish lady with kind eyes and quick smiles. "Where were you last Sunday?" she asks in a genuine voice, skillfully wielding her meat cleaver without looking or daintily slicing through the dark chocolate goat liver.
She is the only female butcher I have met. Her family rallies around. The husband, two sons and the grandsons, toddlers still, lend a hand. It's definitely the most cheerful slaughter shop you would hope to find anywhere. The family banter and warmth dilutes and lightens the unpleasent sight of hanging diemboweled goats and severed heads with sightless eyes arranged in a row on the chopping platform.
Indelible in my mind are two kafkaesque scenes. The first one, from about an year back. Granny chopping ribs on the wooden block. Hanging on one meat hook is the carcass of a goat. From the other two, hung a swing made out of a sari where the grandson slept.
The second from this Sunday. A small cage has been kept on the opposite footpath with three 'kids' cuddling inside. Two adorable young goats, one playful toddler.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Biking to Utan
Utan (pronunced oottan) is a beach and a fishing village near Bombay. A quaint and refreshing getaway.
Journey's end for us at Chaik gaon. We munched buns and omlette at Shetty's joint, with the village drunk trying his best to touch us for a tenner.
"Sorry, haan..sorry. But just just ten bucks please. Do you know of Sandy in Bandra, staying next to National College. No? Never mind and I said sorry haan.....just ten bucks, if you please."
Cool man. We don't mind. You lend character to a sweet spot which will sadly vanish as the behemoth called Bombay stomps ahead.
Thank you Kaushik Iyer. You put us on to it.
Friday 12 Feb, 2010. With Porus at the Gorai ferry point early morning. Destination Utan. 
The Pagoda at Manori loomed and shone in the early morning light. It was tranquil alright, but the putrid water of the creek is a dead put off for me every time. As Porus and I wondered, Bombay is really blessed to be surrounded by nature's beauty. But in our blind and insensitive way, we have managed to completely poison every bit of it.
The Pagoda at Manori loomed and shone in the early morning light. It was tranquil alright, but the putrid water of the creek is a dead put off for me every time. As Porus and I wondered, Bombay is really blessed to be surrounded by nature's beauty. But in our blind and insensitive way, we have managed to completely poison every bit of it.
Anyway, we piled onto the ferry. Nudging desperate lovers eager on amorous pursuits, and locals on their daily commute.
Should we build a bridge across the creek? No, we decided firmly. Let's keep some things low-tech and old world. Let some things be.
You watch something like this and realize what's worth living for. The giant formation languidly floated over our heads, over the creek, over Bombay. Headed back home? We couldn't tell.
Ten minutes later we were on the other side. This is Gorai Ferry point.
The road to Utan was quite lovely, reminding us of Goa in parts. Hard to believe you are still within Mumbai municipal limits.
Mangrove on both sides cut by a narrow asphalt strip. The road climbed over wooded slopes, dotted with pleasent looking bungalows and then dropped steeply (Wheee! But oh god what happens on our way back?). Took a U turn at a police check post, cut through a dense fishing village and here's where we threw up our hands and said "No f***ing way" can we climb that killer slope ahead. The kids sniggered and prodded us. "C'mon unkel, you have gears."
No way kids. We pushed our bikes up that slope.
Bike up? You must be joking. It was bloody killing even to walk up that slope! Midway. we caught our breaths and gazed at this spectacular view of the Utan fishing bay.
You watch something like this and realize what's worth living for. The giant formation languidly floated over our heads, over the creek, over Bombay. Headed back home? We couldn't tell.
Ten minutes later we were on the other side. This is Gorai Ferry point.
The road to Utan was quite lovely, reminding us of Goa in parts. Hard to believe you are still within Mumbai municipal limits.
Mangrove on both sides cut by a narrow asphalt strip. The road climbed over wooded slopes, dotted with pleasent looking bungalows and then dropped steeply (Wheee! But oh god what happens on our way back?). Took a U turn at a police check post, cut through a dense fishing village and here's where we threw up our hands and said "No f***ing way" can we climb that killer slope ahead. The kids sniggered and prodded us. "C'mon unkel, you have gears."
No way kids. We pushed our bikes up that slope.
Bike up? You must be joking. It was bloody killing even to walk up that slope! Midway. we caught our breaths and gazed at this spectacular view of the Utan fishing bay.
Journey's end for us at Chaik gaon. We munched buns and omlette at Shetty's joint, with the village drunk trying his best to touch us for a tenner.
"Sorry, haan..sorry. But just just ten bucks please. Do you know of Sandy in Bandra, staying next to National College. No? Never mind and I said sorry haan.....just ten bucks, if you please."
Cool man. We don't mind. You lend character to a sweet spot which will sadly vanish as the behemoth called Bombay stomps ahead.
Thank you Kaushik Iyer. You put us on to it.
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