Komala, An Old Bangalore Neighbourhood Hotel

Komala, drawn by Paul Fernandes, one of the many Bangalore memories preserved through his work.

Komala, Komala Refreshments to be precise, in Frazer Town, is probably among the oldest “Darshini-type” “hotels” or “eateries” in the localities of Frazer Town, Cox Town and Richards Town. In Bangalore, as in much of South India, “hotel” traditionally meant a small eating establishment, rather than a place for lodging.

Today, it is a hole in the wall. But the old Komala was a reasonably sized eatery and was at the corner of the Buddha Vihar Road-Wheeler Road junction. It had Art Deco green walls and grills with flower motifs, and the entrance was on Wheeler Road. When you walked in, there was a tall reception desk towards the left-hand side of the entrance, where the owner would sit, collecting the payments and pinning paid bills on a spike. Behind him were photos of the gods, garlanded and with multicoloured serial lights.

The owner sat there with a stoic persona, dressed in a crisp white Safari suit. For the uninitiated, a Safari suit is a classic Indian men’s outfit, particularly associated with the 1970s–1990s. It is usually a matching shirt and trousers, with the shirt having a collar and several pockets. It was commonly worn by businessmen, government officials and professionals and became a recognisable part of the old-school Indian wardrobe. His picture now hangs on the walls of the current facility.

Towards the right-hand side of the entrance stood a glass cabinet filled with Indian sweets in aluminium trays: Kala Jamoon, Gulab Jamun, Chum Chum, Champakali and Doodh Peda, Jangri and the like.* As a child, I loved the sight of this glass cabinet. It had sugar-laden goodies that I always wanted a piece of.

Then came the tables. Very retro “hotel” tables and chairs, made of wood with a laminated finish. You will still find two neon-green benches from the old facility retained and hanging around the current one. In fact, Komala itself was a retro, iconic eatery of this neighbourhood. Much of what made the old place memorable barely lingers, except in the food.

The tables were placed in three columns. Towards the left, at the end of the hotel, was a “family room”, a space with a little more privacy. When it was just us girls, we would occupy this room. On the right-hand corner was the kitchen with loud sizzling sounds, smoke, waiters hollering orders and food being made at a frantic pace, almost without pause.

Outside the facility, you’d find men with their bikes and cars, stopping for a quick smoke and coffee. When you entered the space, it was noisy, with people walking in and out, the smell of Dosai, Chutney and Sambar, with a hint of incense sticks, looming thick in the air.

The food was typical Karnataka. I guess the closest way to describe the food would be breakfast and “tiffin”.

The menu had Dosai, Idli, Vadai, Bonda Soup, Tea and Coffee. I can almost hear the waiter recite the menu at that supersonic speed. This is the menu I remember, as our orders generally stayed within the realms of these. But they had more too.

When the waiter arrived at our table, the question was always, “En ide?” Literally translating to, what is there on the menu today? We generally stuck to our usuals, Masala Dosai or Vadai and coffee, finishing with Gulab Jamoon.

We frequented this place often, and sometimes a Masala Dosai was packaged and brought home. Other times, we kids were sent off to get the Dosai. The packaging was the best part. The food was placed on a banana leaf, wrapped in newspaper and tied with a greyish thread.

We were ahead in so many ways than the lives we live today. We lived close by, but with this parcel in hand, we would walk a little quicker, making sure our Masala Dosai wouldn’t get soggy before we reached home. There was no plastic box, no foil, no layers of packaging. Just a banana leaf, a sheet of newspaper and a piece of thread. Simple, practical and completely of its time.

And when we opened the package, that lovely aroma of a banana-leaf-wrapped meal was divine.

Some of these smells will be etched in my memory forever. This is one of them.

The Dosai was, of course, dipped into the thick coconut chutney and Bangalore-style sweet, sauce-like sambar. Just delicious!

This was also a go-to place for the neighbourhood’s churchgoers after Sunday Service. You’d find women dressed in their heavy silk sarees with Mallipoo (Jasmine) in their hair from the CSI churches in the vicinity, and the more casually dressed folks from non-mainline churches grabbing a post-service coffee.

That coffee was much-needed after a two-hour-long service, sometimes filled with rituals and sometimes with thought-provoking sermons. Some folks are, of course, known to doze off during the services, so the coffee and Tea from Komala was nothing short of a must-have!

Somewhere in the early 2000s, or late ’90s, we heard that this iconic eatery was going to shut down. To our relief, it did not, but moved about one building down on Buddha Vihar Road, and that’s where it stands today.

Komala was one of those places that truly catered to all. The prices remained affordable, so both the well-off businessman and the not-so-well-off citizen frequented this place.

It was lovely at the old space. The ambience had a certain hum to it, the footfall was steady, people walking in and out, waiters shouting orders, bus boys cleaning the tables. It was a busy neighbourhood eatery, and in many ways, a true community space.

We went there as a family, we went there with friends, and they, primarily the boys, went alone too.

Dad almost daily stopped at Komala for that strong coffee.

This was a different Bangalore.

But even today, while the space doesn’t live up to what it was in its heyday, the food remains good. I’d recommend their Masala Dosai and strong coffee. In fact, the Masala Dosai that’s being made here lately is probably one of the best I’ve had in the surroundings. The coffee is good, the Vadai is nice and so are the Mangalore Buns. The chutney is thick, unlike the watery versions available in an average Darshini.

The old Komala was different. It was the building, the furniture, the largish eatery and all the little spaces within it that made you want to linger for a while. Today, it stands in a shabby building that once housed “Sealand”, another neighbourhood eatery.

Maybe that is what I miss most about the old Komala. The care that went into making the place. It wasn’t just somewhere you went to eat. You could walk in after church, stop by for coffee, bring the family for breakfast, send a child to pick up a Masala Dosai, or simply drop in because you were hungry or needed some caffeine. There was no occasion needed.

We were part of its everyday rhythm, and it was part of ours.

I still go there, partly for the food, but mostly to hold on to this piece of us.

A piece of old Bangalore.

*I need a separate piece to unravel the sweets that sat in that glass cabinet. Adding that to my “to-write list”.