In Memory of an Onion Uttapam — And the Purab Restaurant That Defined My Pune Days

Growing up in NDA Khadakwasla, Pune, the world around Deccan Gymkhana felt like an extended neighborhood. The nearby stores, the familiar restaurants, the thelas, and even the old movie theater were all part of a daily rhythm—especially for those of us who hopped on and off the PMT buses that stopped at the Gymkhana bus stand.

On practical-lab days, my friends and I would leave home before sunrise, catching the early 7:00–7:30 a.m. bus from NDA to Ferguson College. By the time we returned around 5:30 or 6:00 p.m., we were exhausted and running on the remnants of the single lunchbox we carried with us. Those were the moments when the real dilemma struck:

Should we run to catch the 6 p.m. bus home… or let it go and give in to the temptation of Purab Restaurant?

More often than not, Purab tugged harder at our tired hearts (and empty stomachs). Its legendary onion uttapam—thin, large, generously loaded with onions and green peas, topped with just the right amount of green chilies—was unmatched. So good, in fact, that I never bothered looking at anything else on their menu. Paired with their chikoo milkshake, it was pure comfort, a small luxury for tired students who didn’t mind missing a bus for it.

After I left Pune, I don’t think I ever truly tried uttapam again. Nothing ever came close to Purab’s version. Maybe I didn’t want to risk breaking the memory.

But today, at Mylapore, I decided to be brave. I was nervous—What if it disappoints? What if it ruins my favorite memory?

When two small uttapams arrived with coconut chutney, tomato chutney, and sambar, I could almost feel my subconscious apologizing to Purab for daring to compare. I took the first bite. It was good—really good—but it wasn’t that uttapam. It couldn’t be.

Some flavors belong not just to a kitchen, but to a time, a place, and a version of ourselves long gone.

I don’t know if Purab Restaurant still stands, but I hope it does. I hope it’s still serving that iconic onion uttapam to students rushing between buses and practicals, creating new memories just like it did for us.

In loving memory of Purab Restaurant—and the onion uttapam that will forever taste like my Pune days.

~ Dawn

The World I Grew Up In

 

I long for the India of my childhood—

Where faith was only faith, seen through secular eyes,

Where no one asked the last name of a friend in play,

Where Diwali sweets were shared, and from the same hands

came bowls of sevaiyaan in Eid delight—

How free was that India when childhood was mine!

I long for the India of my childhood—

Where patience to listen was still a gift,

Where minds differed but we dined from one plate,

And if words stung, we laughed the hurt away,

How mindful, how gentle, was that India of youth.

I long for the India of my childhood—

Where many tongues wove one conversation of smiles,

Where a gesture alone carried honor and respect,

Where no one feared the other—only reverence reigned,

How tolerant was that India of innocence.

I ache for the India of my childhood—

Where theft was seen through the lens of need,

Where violence gave way to compassion’s hand,

Where Usha and Farzana studied and played as one,

How human, how luminous, was that India of my youth.

Yes, I ache for the India of my childhood.

~ Dawn

A good education can change anyone. A good teacher can change everything!

It warmed my heart to see this picture of my English teacher, Maggie Santram ma'am, who turned 95 on May 14th! So many wonderful memories flooded back. She taught us to truly speak English – the nuances of pronunciation and grammar, and her storytelling was simply captivating. She had this way of making us believe she was straight from England, and we all wholeheartedly embraced it.

Mrs. Santram was a remarkable teacher. Though she held us to high standards, her respectful way of communicating naturally fostered an environment of mutual respect. And her style! She was undoubtedly the most stylish teacher throughout my elementary and high school years. While there were younger, fashionable teachers later, Mrs. Santram possessed a unique elegance.

I cherish every moment spent in her classroom. I still vividly recall her having me read aloud, praising my pronunciation while explaining the meaning of words to the others. Our generation shares a special bond with our teachers; a mix of deep respect, love, and perhaps a touch of nostalgia that can bring a tear to the eye. Wishing you continued good health and happiness, dear Santram ma'am! #myenglishteacher

"Children learn more from who you are than what you teach."

~ Dawn