Kandhal in Udhagamandalam looks like any other rundown locality in a hill station. Garbage lies strewn around, wannabe guides lurk, spouting tourist-savvy lingo, and cows graze placidly on the road oblivious to the honking cars that whiz past. All th ese almost effectively push to the background Kandhal’s uniqueness — it is home to most of the region’s celebrated cooks, golf caddies-turned-coaches and horse riders.
I go out hoping to meet grand old men who will talk of cooking for the mems and memsahibs, and the transition from idli and upma to bakes and pies, even while puffing at their pipes. Turns out most of them have fallen prey to just that — tobacco and alcohol have taken quite a toll on the more celebrated cooks who hailed from here.
Spicing up lives
Still, I end up meeting a bunch of people who have touched the lives of so many, just by their sheer skills in the kitchen. And, somewhere in the corner of their hearts, the past lingers on.
Take Jomani a.k.a. Jo, a balding, 73-year-old who cannot walk without support. “What language you want me to talk? Main Hindi mein baat karta. I talk in English too,” he challenges me in what has been popularly nicknamed “Butler English”. A brand of English the locals are very proud to be associated with.
The list of the people he has worked for in his long innings as chef is impressive, from officials of the Raj to his last assignment at a top corporate guesthouse. He started working at 15, and till he retired at 63, whipped up a storm in whichever kitchen he worked in — British or Indian — turning out grand pies and bakes and meringues with as much élan as he turned over a dosai. Ask him how he entered the profession, and he says he has to thank a long line of pre decessors for that.
Hoary tradition
For, as long as anyone can remember, the men of this village have almost always ruled the kitchen. Outside their homes, that is. Ask S. Antony’s wife. As the spouse of the area’s 64-year-old culinary whiz, she has to do a whole lot extra to meet her husband’s expectations in the kitchen. And, she usually falls short. “He is so good in the kitchen, and can just put up with my food,” says Philomina Antony. But, she beams that his employers keep calling him year after year to entertain their guests during the golfing season.
Antony loves South Indian food, but his folks back home will not even be able to pronounce the various Continental dishes he is so famous for. He specialises in salted beef, mutton delicacies, fish cutlets, bakes, the works, most of which were picked up when he apprenticed under a Goan chef. Jo, renowned for his cauliflower and chicken bakes, is known in the village for his love of dal and rice, a far cry from the fancy fare he whips up in others’ homes.
Winning ways
Why are Kandhal men so popular in the kitchen? Old-time residents of the Nilgiris say what has worked in their favour is their attitude and demeanour. Agrees Jo. “By nature, we are very silent, non-inquisitive people. Employers love having us around,” he explains. And, short-cuts are a no-no, when it comes to food preparation. “Actually, there is not much difference between us and doctors. We ensure that our employers and guests are as comfortable as possible,” insists Antony, even as he gets ready to cook a dinner of spaghetti meat ball curry for some foreign guests.
G. Nathan, an eager lad, demonstrates the local’s ability to pick up languages, talking in Hindi and English with an impeccable accent. “That is one reason why we are sought-after guides,” he says. The training starts from an early age. Children hawk caps and eatables during the summer break, learn a language or two, and earn a couple of hundreds to fund their education, say locals.
If Jo and Antony trod a familiar path, M. Augustine was a trailblazer of sorts. As a child, he stood near the sprawling golf course, watching players tee. His sincerity caught the fancy of a foreigner, who taught him golf. For 40 years, Augustine, in his sixties now, has raised his family with that knowledge. He is not in great health, but a few wealthy businessmen in Mumbai still insist that he visit, and teach them and their kids golf, and pay him handsomely. Like the others, Augustine now has only trunkloads of memories to dip into. Dust-ridden certificates and dog-eared photographs are proof of his high standing.
Horses and ponies are a vital part of Kandhal too. Almost every other equine that moves about in the hill station is managed by a resident of Kandhal. But, they stop with handling others’ horses, and teaching people to ride; buying their own pony is a no-no.
Changes under way
Though many generations of Kandhal’s citizens have made a living out of assisting people, there is subtle change taking place. If the earlier generations learnt on the job, the present is doing so in colleges. And, moving away from the very jobs that brought food to the table. Will anyone be left to take Kandhal’s hoary tradition forward?
Antony has his doubts. He is saddened by the development, but accepts it as part of the change that is blowing across Kandhal. “No one fathomed the present demand for catering,” he rues.
I go out hoping to meet grand old men who will talk of cooking for the mems and memsahibs, and the transition from idli and upma to bakes and pies, even while puffing at their pipes. Turns out most of them have fallen prey to just that — tobacco and alcohol have taken quite a toll on the more celebrated cooks who hailed from here.
Spicing up lives
Still, I end up meeting a bunch of people who have touched the lives of so many, just by their sheer skills in the kitchen. And, somewhere in the corner of their hearts, the past lingers on.
Take Jomani a.k.a. Jo, a balding, 73-year-old who cannot walk without support. “What language you want me to talk? Main Hindi mein baat karta. I talk in English too,” he challenges me in what has been popularly nicknamed “Butler English”. A brand of English the locals are very proud to be associated with.
The list of the people he has worked for in his long innings as chef is impressive, from officials of the Raj to his last assignment at a top corporate guesthouse. He started working at 15, and till he retired at 63, whipped up a storm in whichever kitchen he worked in — British or Indian — turning out grand pies and bakes and meringues with as much élan as he turned over a dosai. Ask him how he entered the profession, and he says he has to thank a long line of pre decessors for that.
Hoary tradition
For, as long as anyone can remember, the men of this village have almost always ruled the kitchen. Outside their homes, that is. Ask S. Antony’s wife. As the spouse of the area’s 64-year-old culinary whiz, she has to do a whole lot extra to meet her husband’s expectations in the kitchen. And, she usually falls short. “He is so good in the kitchen, and can just put up with my food,” says Philomina Antony. But, she beams that his employers keep calling him year after year to entertain their guests during the golfing season.
Antony loves South Indian food, but his folks back home will not even be able to pronounce the various Continental dishes he is so famous for. He specialises in salted beef, mutton delicacies, fish cutlets, bakes, the works, most of which were picked up when he apprenticed under a Goan chef. Jo, renowned for his cauliflower and chicken bakes, is known in the village for his love of dal and rice, a far cry from the fancy fare he whips up in others’ homes.
Winning ways
Why are Kandhal men so popular in the kitchen? Old-time residents of the Nilgiris say what has worked in their favour is their attitude and demeanour. Agrees Jo. “By nature, we are very silent, non-inquisitive people. Employers love having us around,” he explains. And, short-cuts are a no-no, when it comes to food preparation. “Actually, there is not much difference between us and doctors. We ensure that our employers and guests are as comfortable as possible,” insists Antony, even as he gets ready to cook a dinner of spaghetti meat ball curry for some foreign guests.
G. Nathan, an eager lad, demonstrates the local’s ability to pick up languages, talking in Hindi and English with an impeccable accent. “That is one reason why we are sought-after guides,” he says. The training starts from an early age. Children hawk caps and eatables during the summer break, learn a language or two, and earn a couple of hundreds to fund their education, say locals.
If Jo and Antony trod a familiar path, M. Augustine was a trailblazer of sorts. As a child, he stood near the sprawling golf course, watching players tee. His sincerity caught the fancy of a foreigner, who taught him golf. For 40 years, Augustine, in his sixties now, has raised his family with that knowledge. He is not in great health, but a few wealthy businessmen in Mumbai still insist that he visit, and teach them and their kids golf, and pay him handsomely. Like the others, Augustine now has only trunkloads of memories to dip into. Dust-ridden certificates and dog-eared photographs are proof of his high standing.
Horses and ponies are a vital part of Kandhal too. Almost every other equine that moves about in the hill station is managed by a resident of Kandhal. But, they stop with handling others’ horses, and teaching people to ride; buying their own pony is a no-no.
Changes under way
Though many generations of Kandhal’s citizens have made a living out of assisting people, there is subtle change taking place. If the earlier generations learnt on the job, the present is doing so in colleges. And, moving away from the very jobs that brought food to the table. Will anyone be left to take Kandhal’s hoary tradition forward?
Antony has his doubts. He is saddened by the development, but accepts it as part of the change that is blowing across Kandhal. “No one fathomed the present demand for catering,” he rues.
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