It is amazing that a Brahmin can survive in the business of selling food. More so, in North Chennai for 83 years. Once a premium locality, something like today's Anna Salai, two Brahmin brothers from Palakkad in Kerala came to make a living in Chennai. After several moves, the brothers set up shop a few doors away from the famous Kalikambal Temple.
Maratha king Chatrapati Shivaji is believed to have sought Goddess Kali's blessings here. Incidentally I got married here. More about that in another blog.
I have interviewed the owners of Sri Rama Bhavan twice. The first time I spoke to the youngest entrepreneur in the family, a few weeks before his wedding. Balaji, an upper middle class Brahmin youth, was articulate.
Maratha king Chatrapati Shivaji is believed to have sought Goddess Kali's blessings here. Incidentally I got married here. More about that in another blog.
I have interviewed the owners of Sri Rama Bhavan twice. The first time I spoke to the youngest entrepreneur in the family, a few weeks before his wedding. Balaji, an upper middle class Brahmin youth, was articulate.
At a time when restaurant chains are minting fortunes, 70-year-old R.G. Ananthanarayanan, a qualified chartered accountant, is not worried about his competitors. He has managed to run the hotel for a dedicated middle class. The hotel sets store by its rasam and filter coffee.
He told me that he opted to enter the hotel business at the age of 25 after a loyal client, a violinist who was travelling with his troupe on a train to Thanjavur, told him that he respected his hotelier father. "The violinist's narrative changed my opinion of my family business," he said.
He told me that he opted to enter the hotel business at the age of 25 after a loyal client, a violinist who was travelling with his troupe on a train to Thanjavur, told him that he respected his hotelier father. "The violinist's narrative changed my opinion of my family business," he said.
The other person I interviewed, mostly over telephone, was Venkataramani, one of the two owners of Venkatramana Boli Stall in West Mambalam, a roadside kiosk around 15 to 20 km from the Thambu Chetti Street. This gentleman is a complete contrast to Ananathanarayanan. Venkataramani did not want to speak to me initially.
He changed his mind later in the day and over the phone told me about his family, which he said traced its background to the humble rural Kumbakonam. His mother made poli - pan cakes made using refined flour and stuffed with coconut and jaggery.
Poli is a delicacy made during Hindu festivals and is a wholesome dish in itself. Venkataramani said his mother was very good at making poli and his father decided to launch the delicacy as food for the poor.
It was an instant hit and remains so among food connoisseurs. When an upstart launched his business with a sound-alike name just across the road he wasn't perturbed. There is place for everyone in the business, he thought. He hadn't contended with the ruthlessness of the upstart, whose owner paid money (Rs. 30,000, he said) to get reviews in a women's monthly magazine called Mangaiar Malar.
Bitter, this sweet maker has since refused interviews. My persuasion helped, but only a little. The pleasure was that he displayed the news story on the walls of his shop the next day. A recognition that every writer longs for.
He changed his mind later in the day and over the phone told me about his family, which he said traced its background to the humble rural Kumbakonam. His mother made poli - pan cakes made using refined flour and stuffed with coconut and jaggery.
Poli is a delicacy made during Hindu festivals and is a wholesome dish in itself. Venkataramani said his mother was very good at making poli and his father decided to launch the delicacy as food for the poor.
It was an instant hit and remains so among food connoisseurs. When an upstart launched his business with a sound-alike name just across the road he wasn't perturbed. There is place for everyone in the business, he thought. He hadn't contended with the ruthlessness of the upstart, whose owner paid money (Rs. 30,000, he said) to get reviews in a women's monthly magazine called Mangaiar Malar.
Bitter, this sweet maker has since refused interviews. My persuasion helped, but only a little. The pleasure was that he displayed the news story on the walls of his shop the next day. A recognition that every writer longs for.
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