The Grinch's Guide To Ramzan

A Nihari-Lover’s Ode To A Month That Once Had More Soul Than Sensation

Wow! You must be bingeing till sunrise, no? Kebabs, keema, chops?”

“Oh yes! Totally,” would be my rehearsed response to my curious carnivorous Catholic friends in the college foyer.

“You see… come Ramzan and Allah blesses us with three stomachs, two aortas and Padma Lakshmi’s metabolism.”

“What ya man, Humaira,” they’d laugh awkwardly and then pop the question—“So when are you taking us to Minara?”

For the uninitiated, the eponymous 500-metre stretch leading to the pistachio green-domed Minara Masjid, is where much of Bombay convenes to indulge in an artery-choking food orgy every Ramzan. Expats come to exoticise Mozlim food in a Mozlim ghetto. Nikon-garlanded food bloggers congregate to expand their portfolios and midriffs. Foodie friends and pile-ons drag that one Muslim friend here to devour platefuls of fiery bheja masala, greasy keema baida roti and steaming quail tandoori. The bird is grilled fresh after it is retrieved from cages festooned outside stalls where surma-eyed men compete for your attention and what’s in your wallet.