Our first memories of ‘experiencing’ Kala Ghoda was as a wide-eyed collegian stepping into Café Samovar. It was unlike any eatery that our suburban soul had ever witnessed before. Conversations around us swayed from the latest productions at NCPA and Indira Gandhi’s splendid saree collection, to the need for more states to set up their emporiums in the city. From silver-haired Calcutta cotton-wearing SoBo aunties, to theatre actors, to students like us, the tiny linear-shaped space somehow managed to pack in a heady mix of cosmopolitan, multicultural patrons. With hindsight, on all our visits, it strangely never felt crowded or noisy.

In that one hour as I sipped on pudina chai and pakodas and later, their bestseller—keema roll—my friends’ chatter seemed less interesting. This was the ultimate cool hangout. Our next halt was to check out a few shows at the adjacent Jehangir Art Gallery. I recall gazing with awe at the late Milon Mukherjee’s works—the actor and artist—passionately explaining to a bunch of us about the inspiration behind the collection on display.