Kishore Singh: Food for thought in Mumbai

Because I am in Mumbai as you read this, you should know I intend to treat myself to sabudana khichdi, misal pav and vada pav, even though I don't particularly care for such street food. I would have added pav bhaji to the list but my wife tells me it's Gujarati, not Maharashtrian. As for bhelpuri, that ghastly excrescence, let's just say I'll risk a trip to Arthur Road Jail rather than pollute my palate. Trishna is no longer the seafood haven it used to be, having morphed into tourist gentility, but I will make sure to order bombil fish fry in support of the local speciality. Now that Leopold's is de rigeur, you can bet I'll stop by for a beer, even if I have to stand in queue to get in. I might even opt for a Marathi film, provided one is playing at prime time.

Leaving for the airport in Delhi, the children begged me not to go to Mumbai, now that having a sense of humour, if not banned, is at least likely to get you into trouble. "Not Bombay, no," I assured them, only to be told to practice calling it Mumbai. "Promise us you won't make fun of anyone there," my daughter insisted. My acquiescence meant the following: not having a point of view on local civic or political issues, no eating out at non-Maharashtrian dives, no praise of UPwallahs or Biharis, no criticism - period. I had to agree to stop being agitated about Mumbai's traffic jams and refrain from using any chauffeurs (and doodhwallahs) from outside the state. In particular, I was not to look, act or behave like a north Indian.

Since I was in Mumbai (not Bombay) to attend a wedding, my son wanted to know if the hosts planned to play Hindi or Bhojpuri music at the sangeet, strongly advocating Marathi instead. I assured them I had no plans to dance at all, so I couldn't be blamed if I just happened to be sitting where English, or Bollywood, music happened to be playing. I assured both children I wasn't going to provide custom to bar dancers, and would walk out if the music lasted beyond 10 p m. Most of all, I had to say I supported the ban on beef - I don't - and that if anyone wants to ban all meat products, I would simply nod in support.

My son gave me a legal looking document he wanted me to sign, an affidavit he wanted me to carry at all times. "It says," he informed me in a lawyerly manner, "that you have never read a book by Shobhaa De, nor intend to." "But I have," I corrected him, "I've even reviewed a few." "Then you have to mention that you've only read her books in the line of work, and that you did not like them." "I didn't," I agreed, "but I don't think I can support a ban on her work."

Which is why, when I finally arrived at the airport, I thought to buy all the De titles on display, holding them aloft on the flight, and displayed them prominently as I made my way through the city. No one cared till, at the hotel, I told the bellboy to trash them in the nearest bin - what else was I to do with them? - at which a gentleman sitting close by patted me on the back. "That," he said, "is the true mark of a Maratha manoos.