Cheers to the old times

Walking into Dewar's Bar you are instantly enveloped and mollycoddled into the essence of what was once the very life of Bangalore.

In a far corner, you can hear the owner, Varadaraj, instructing the kitchen: "Cut off the head and tail, wash the remaining part and remove the skin. Slice and marinate in salt, turmeric powder, chilli powder and vinegar. And don't forget the breadcrumbs!"

This is the way fish has been fried here ever since a jolly Irish cook named Duffy started the kitchen. Sit down with Varadaraj and he tells you stories of the years when carriages would pull up to the entrance with customers who made a beeline for the draught beer.

 

There is greater pride reserved for his grandfather, P D Kanniah Naidu, who would not tolerate drunken brawls and would haul offenders off to the nearest sergeant.

Naidu started Dewar's in 1933. He chose a stately bungalow on Cockburn Road in the heart of the cantonment and a Scottish name for his enterprise, keeping in mind his clientele.

He also set up the Dewar's Wine Store on St Mark's Road, but it was later sold by his son K Krishnamurthy to pay debts he accrued at the Turf Club.

Varadaraj describes his grandfather as a "tall, imposing man" who zealously guarded his cook Duffy to prevent him from being poached by other establishments.

Dewar's was a popular hangout for the British, who, after their beer or scotch, would head to the dancing halls at St John's Parish Hall or Funnels on M G Road (which today houses the newspaper Deccan Herald).

The premises back then was rented for Rs 30 and the draught beer was priced at three annas for a small glass and six for a big one. A bottle of scotch was Rs 11 and before independence there was only imported liquor served "" Pal's, Tuborg and Bech's beer from Germany, Black and White, Johnnie Walker, Hennessy cognac, Biscuit brandy, Jamaican rum and Russian vodka. To munch along there were sandwiches, boiled eggs, omelettes, liver, fish and goat's brain fried with onions.

Much of the old furniture remains though interspersed with the odd plastic chair. Behind Varadaraj's counter there is a faded portrait of Queen Elizabeth II and one of the royal family on the lawns of Balmoral Castle. They now jostle with a pantheon of Hindu gods.

The issues facing Varadaraj today are quite common. He sums it up in one word "" prices. And his establishment does not figure on the agenda of Bangalore's Gen-Now. But it is reassuring to see the regulars trickle in and yell out to their favourite waiter to take an order.