My ode to pao

It’s covered millions of vadas, been the staple of a billion breakfasts and is quite simply one of the things I cannot do without. What am I talking about? The pao, a humble bread that is as dear to every fanatical Mumbaikar as the croissant and baguette is to any Parisian.
Every city-dweller has their own special relationship with the pao, from the regular at Kyanis, who just can't do without his bun-maska, to the Shiv Sainik for whom vada pao is an expression of party loyalty, to the laid-back teenager in Goregaon who spreads imported Kraft cheese spread on her pao for a hearty breakfast. Then there are those who will content themselves with just dipping the pao in their chai, or toast it and then smear butter on it for a calorie-laden feast. My cherished pao experience involves my grandmother's home-made mango jam, which transforms the pao into instant ambrosia.
Any pao shortage immediately strikes fear into the heart of pao-lovers because it means the dreaded compromise with sliced bread. That means hard edges and a thin texture; and is only to be borne if the prospect of not eating bread at all is too dire to contemplate.
Pao is so much a part of life in Mumbai now that we tend to take it for granted. The recent baker's strike was a classic example, when sliced bread disappeared instantly from shops and bread-lovers developed alternatives at breakfast, turning to rotis and even fruit and cornflakes instead. The real effects were felt on the streets and in the Udupi restaurants, where vada pao became just vada, and pav bhaji just bhaji with sliced bread.
So, can Mumbai do without its pao? Definitely not. The pao has eaten its way into the city’s heart.

-- I wrote this in 2002 when my granny was still alive. I wish I had got that recipe for mango jam now.... and I miss her so much besides....