Dotted around Mumbai, there's quite a few Parsi buildings; there's a monument to an influential member of the community just around the block from my hotel that has inscriptions in actual cuneiform, and I've stumbled across three or four Zoroastrian Fire Temples within a very few minutes walk. A couple of miles away, on Malabar Hill, the Tower of Silence is hidden discreetly behind some trees; I'm not sure whether the kites circling above were taking advantage of the thermals, or whether they knew something that I didn't. Entry to the Temples is forbidden to non-Parsis. (This is, incidentally, different from Iran: we had no trouble visiting a Fire Temple in, if I remember rightly, Yazd.) But if I can't get into Parsi places of worship, I can do the next best thing, which is to patronise their restaurants.
The Britannia is a few blocks east of my hotel, and it's recommended by Lonely Planet, so I pootled across there the other day with dinner in mind, only to discover that it's open only from noon until 4. So I went there for lunch today.
The restaurant is in a building that would charitably be described as dilapidated. Plaster has fallen from the ceiling in a couple of places, and the paint is peeling from it in many others. The chandelier is the filthiest thing I have seen in a long time: I can't imagine that it was supposed to be grey when it was fitted. On the walls, there are the flags of the UK, India, and Iran; these are close to pictures of Zoroaster, Gandhi, and the Queen, and of Bombay-as-was and Persepolis in the 1930s. There's also a life-size carboard cutout of William and Kate. The waiters are all elderly men in bowties.
The place is impossible not to love.
The waiter who brought me the menu was keen to talk me through it; he drew my attention to the chicken berry pulav. I noted that people on the tables all around me seemed to be eating huge plates of zereshk polow, so I asked if that was what it was. (It looked really good, but I had my heart set on the mutton dansak.) Clearly, I'd given myself away as a Persephile; when I'd finished eating, and had paid the bill, the waiter invited me to stay sitting because he wanted me to meet the proprietor.
This is the proprietor. We exchanged a few words in Persian before my memory gave out on me entirely, and then we switched to English. (One side-effect of this is that it's brought home to me just how much I want to get that language nailed down; it really does bother me that I've not managed it yet. I've not even had a lesson since about May. So I shall have to get in touch with Mozghan or Nafiseh, and make a point of learning the vocabulary this time.) He is a slightly stooping gentleman of advanced years, with a kind face and a very gentle handshake, and he told me a number of things, the credibility of which is somewhat variable.
The first was that he is 96 years old. This I have no problem believing. He looks well on it, though. The second was that the world's oldest man died in Indonesia recently, aged 146. This was reasonably widely reported, though whether I believe those reports is a different matter. The third was that he fully intended to break that record. I do believe that this is his intent; I cannot say whether the intent will be satisfied. But he took such glee from the way he talked about breaking it that I really, really hope that he does manage the feat. The fourth was that he hoped that I should live long enough to break his record, whatever that may turn out to be. I am touched by the sentiment, but am not sure I share it. An extra 104 years is a heck of a long time.
He told me also that he had a half-hour long meeting with the Duke and Duchess of Cornwall; since he has an A4 photo of the meeting, and is evidently very proud of it, I cannot but believe that.
But then he told me one thing that I cannot believe, but that again he delivered with amazing charm. He couched it as a jokey sort of request: when I get back to England, or Britain, or the British Isles, or the United Kingdom ("So many names for one country!"), and the next time I see the Queen, could I tell her that she would be more than welcome to move to India to (re)take the crown there? A new Buckingham Palace could be built, and accommodation could also be made for George, Charlotte, and Louis.
I'm not sure if this was meant as something that Indians en bloc, or the people of Mumbai, or the Parsis, or he alone wanted to see. It seemed rude to press for more details. I told him I'd pass on the message if I ever got the chance - though I don't think I will. Get the chance, I mean: I will pass it on should I bump into her in Tesco. If, however, somebody reading this does happen to meet the Queen, could they do the honours? There's a nonagenarian restaurateur who'd be thrilled.
Oh, and I'm definitely going back there for lunch tomorrow.
The Britannia is a few blocks east of my hotel, and it's recommended by Lonely Planet, so I pootled across there the other day with dinner in mind, only to discover that it's open only from noon until 4. So I went there for lunch today.
The restaurant is in a building that would charitably be described as dilapidated. Plaster has fallen from the ceiling in a couple of places, and the paint is peeling from it in many others. The chandelier is the filthiest thing I have seen in a long time: I can't imagine that it was supposed to be grey when it was fitted. On the walls, there are the flags of the UK, India, and Iran; these are close to pictures of Zoroaster, Gandhi, and the Queen, and of Bombay-as-was and Persepolis in the 1930s. There's also a life-size carboard cutout of William and Kate. The waiters are all elderly men in bowties.The place is impossible not to love.
The waiter who brought me the menu was keen to talk me through it; he drew my attention to the chicken berry pulav. I noted that people on the tables all around me seemed to be eating huge plates of zereshk polow, so I asked if that was what it was. (It looked really good, but I had my heart set on the mutton dansak.) Clearly, I'd given myself away as a Persephile; when I'd finished eating, and had paid the bill, the waiter invited me to stay sitting because he wanted me to meet the proprietor.
The first was that he is 96 years old. This I have no problem believing. He looks well on it, though. The second was that the world's oldest man died in Indonesia recently, aged 146. This was reasonably widely reported, though whether I believe those reports is a different matter. The third was that he fully intended to break that record. I do believe that this is his intent; I cannot say whether the intent will be satisfied. But he took such glee from the way he talked about breaking it that I really, really hope that he does manage the feat. The fourth was that he hoped that I should live long enough to break his record, whatever that may turn out to be. I am touched by the sentiment, but am not sure I share it. An extra 104 years is a heck of a long time.
He told me also that he had a half-hour long meeting with the Duke and Duchess of Cornwall; since he has an A4 photo of the meeting, and is evidently very proud of it, I cannot but believe that.
But then he told me one thing that I cannot believe, but that again he delivered with amazing charm. He couched it as a jokey sort of request: when I get back to England, or Britain, or the British Isles, or the United Kingdom ("So many names for one country!"), and the next time I see the Queen, could I tell her that she would be more than welcome to move to India to (re)take the crown there? A new Buckingham Palace could be built, and accommodation could also be made for George, Charlotte, and Louis.
I'm not sure if this was meant as something that Indians en bloc, or the people of Mumbai, or the Parsis, or he alone wanted to see. It seemed rude to press for more details. I told him I'd pass on the message if I ever got the chance - though I don't think I will. Get the chance, I mean: I will pass it on should I bump into her in Tesco. If, however, somebody reading this does happen to meet the Queen, could they do the honours? There's a nonagenarian restaurateur who'd be thrilled.
Oh, and I'm definitely going back there for lunch tomorrow.
.فردا, من ناهار می خورم آنجا
(I think that's roughly how to say it...)