SNIPPETS —
The eating habits of the rich and famous

In the past, Snippets has brought you information on places, monuments and historical events related to Bangalore and Mysore. (You might remember that the last Snippets column was about the mansions of three dewans of Mysore.) This time, coincidentally, the focus is yet again on three dewans. But we write with a more human thrust: of their somewhat peculiar eating habits!

Our source? D.V. Gundappa (1889-1975), a titan of Kannada literature. During his prolific writing career, he has written on philosophy, literature and culture. Like all his works, DVG’s memoirs are delectable masterpieces. Gnaapaka Chitra Shaale (A Picture Gallery of Memories), spanning 8 volumes and comprising 185 articles, brings vintage Bangalore and Karnataka to life. Within its 2046 pages are pen portraits of people great and small: from maharajas to street-side beggars. We offer you a few samples…not of dewans’ great achievements but of their gourmand ways:

Sir K. Seshadri Iyer (1845-1901) was the Dewan of Mysore from 1883 to 1900. Among his numerous achievements is that of building India's first hydro-electric project at Sivasamudra. He had one weakness: he couldn't do without 4 to 5 curries and 3 to 4 sweets at every meal. Predictably, this led his stomach to revolt every now and then. For which he had a somewhat surprising home remedy...

On a silver basin, one foot in diameter, cooks would spread a layer of fine sugar, and place a home-cooked chiroti on it. This process was repeated with two more chirotis. The third chiroti, and this was a critical step, was covered with a layer of magnesium sulphate (”diarrhoea salt”). One more chiroti and a layer of sugar followed. Finally, a cook poured steaming hot badam milk over the stack. Another cook, armed with two silver forks, would break and stir the concoction into a semi-liquid state. When the consistency was judged suitable, the Dewan would consume the contents—and then fast the rest of the day.

There are no details as to the efficacy of the cure. One presumes it worked since if was oft repeated.

Raja Sir T. Madhava Rao (1829-1891), Dewan of Travancore-Cochin, was known for his intellectual brilliance. After his retirement, he lived in Bangalore for some years. (His son was T. Ananda Rao, a Dewan of Mysore.) Madhava Rao had a large kitchen attached to his office. A glimpse into the kitchen would reveal four or five wood fires burning steadily at meal, tiffin and in-between times, surrounded by numerous containers of batter, cut vegetables, cooked food and fresh ghee. Needless to say, several cooks were in constant attendance, awaiting orders, which they would execute with commendable alacrity.

In the office, Madhava Rao would be dictating to his clerk as a cook brought in a crisp, steaming hot ghee masala dosai. Even as he was taking his first bite, he would ask, “What, haven't you got any pakodas?". A few minutes later, a plate of hot pakodas would appear. Halfway through their consumption, yajamanru would sigh, "How many days since I ate ghewar...”. The hint would be taken instantly. And so on and so on. A cook who failed to meet his culinary expectations and satisfy his palate was dismissed.

People attributed his formidable brain power to his powerful eating prowess.

T. Ananda Rao (1852-1919) was Dewan T. Madhava Rao's son. (Ananda Rao Circle, where Brigade Plaza is located, is named after him.) Among his many deeds as Dewan (1909-1912), was initiating the K.R. Sagar project. He owes his place in this piece not to his appetite (he was a fairly normal eater), but to the fact that he hosted lavish lunches and dinners.

A typical meal would include all the normal items plus 4 types of rasam, 2 types of sambar, 2 types of dal, numerous curries, fried items, roasted dishes and several sweets. Extra hot and bland versions of the menu were available, as was soft food for toothless guests.

As, if not more, impressive as the menu itself, was the service. Guests were seated on wooden planks on the floor, in neat rows. Two stewards were stationed at either end of each row. And these were impressive stewards: mustashioed, Palghat Iyers with vibhuti on forehead and studs in their ears, dressed in gleaming white, doubled-up dhotis and shirts, angavastrams on shoulders.

Their job was two-fold. They had to gently fan the guests with their large hand-fans. They also had to keep an eagle eye on the culinary preferences of each guest, alerting the servers as to what additional helpings had to be served to whom—even before the guest himself realised what dishes he was enjoying the most. If any guest had to do the unthinkable—ask for something himself—the steward responsible for that guest would be fined eight annas. Per neglected guest.