Fellow blogger, resident of SF, and notorious panty-stealing depraved individual ATBOTH sends an e-mail as follows:
A friend is heading back to India for a visit. First Bombay, then Poona. Know anything about either of those places?
I’m guessing you do, seeing as you mentioned Irani Teashops in some previous posts.
Any recommendations? For food, that is – I doubt that she is seriously interested in your thoughts on feminine underwear.
Well, let us see. It is utterly unfortunate that I have no fond memories of feminine underwear in Poona, even though I am convinced that anybody going there would indeed most certainly be entranced and obsessed with the very subject - especially if self wearing. But men also. Why not? It is, second to nuking the bollocky pakistanies, a subject of nearness to the hearts of all sensible persons. Yes.
What to remember?
Statue of Chatrapatty Shivajee? It is boring. Very British in style, my good heavens how heroic looking the old bean. Statue of Ambedkar? Not otherwise much defference. Gardens? Fort? Location?
Oh, the gibbering Dutchman requested food. Well then.
Parsee eats: Marz-O-Rin and Dorabjee's. Also various Irani Bakeries (did someone just say brunmaska chai?). Kayani Bakery. And the dreary vegetarian muck so much prefered by Gujus and Dravidians which is availably inevitable at Udipi joints, the attraction of which I am utterly incomprehending.
I shall post about Marz-O-Rin and Dorabjee's.
Do not expect golden prose, I am not Behramji by any standards except my own.