Among my earliest memories of Bombay, is going to the Kyani Restaurant at Dhobi Talao and having half a brun-maska and pudhina tea. The brun is a hardcrusted Irani bread (so hard that one has to douse it in tea in order to be able to eat it), to which the Irani applies the minimum of butter, which is the maska of the brun-maska.

The Irani has a way of applying butter on bread. He takes a wedge of butter on the knife, applies it with one single, smooth stroke across the surface of the bread, and then, with the return stroke of the same knife, scrapes off most of the butter. The task of applying the butter is performed by the Irani himself, not by one of his staff, to ensure economy.

I must also explain the pudhina tea. It is a mint tea, served in cups, the milk and sugar already added. You may have it according to your taste by telling the waiter whether you want more milk in the tea or less, (though the correct method is to tell him whether you want more tea water in the milk or less).

We were fortunate that in Dhobi Talao, where the family stayed, there were the two oldest, biggest and most famous Irani restaurants in town. In fact, they are still there: the Kyani and facing it, the Bastani. The two, between them, represent all the romance of the Irani restaurants of Bombay.

There are some distinctive features about an Irani restaurant. The furniture for instance; straight-backed wooden chairs, with long spindly legs, no arms, and round white marble-topped tables. It has come to be known as Irani furniture and all the best families have started buying it from second-hand shops in the Chor Bazar.

Then there is the decor: the Irani goes in for mirrors, lots of full-length mirrors (though they carry instructions for customers, such as "patrons are requested not to comb their hair in the mirrors"), and he has coloured glass panels of romantic scenes such as little cottages in the moonlight, next to a waterfall, with swans swimming in the water. The glass panels also have portraits of the Shah of Iran and of King George VI and his Queen Elizabeth (the present queen mother).

In fact, the Irani restaurants in Bombay must be among the few places in the world where photographs of the Shah of Iran may still be seen. Occasionally, a picture of the Ayatollah Khomeini may be seen next to the Shah's portrait, posted there no doubt out of a sense of discretion, for the Irani is nothing if not discreet.

No menus are presented to customers. Instead, there are notices all over, announcing the specialities of the house. One notice would say: "Try our famous pudding." Another tells you to: "Beat the heat with watermelon juice." Still another says: "Treat your family to our cream cakes and make them happy."

And alongside, of course, are the instruction notices, like the one about not combing hair. They instruct the customers not to discuss horse-racing, other forms of gambling (in the old days it was on the New York Cotton figures, now it is on a local numbers game), sit longer than necessary, order two saucers with one cup of tea (this is done when two customers wish to share a cup of tea). None of these instructions are obeyed or expected to be obeyed.

There are, however, some strict Iranis. One such place at Charni Road Junction, run by an orthodox Zoroastrian Irani, forbids smoking. In spite of that, he has a good trade, probably because the tea is extra good, as also the brun-maska.

Most Iranis who run the restaurants in Bombay are Zoroastrians, in fact, all of them are, except the few who have taken to the Bahai faith in recent years. Unlike the main group of Parsis, who came to India several centuries ago and found refuge among the tolerant Hindu rulers along the West coast of India, the Iranis are recent immigrants. They came around the turn of the century, in the early 1900s, and, from the start, they went into the restaurant business. They opened restaurants at streetcorners, in the most strategic positions business-wise. The fare offered was then, as now, limited. Aerated waters (soda, lemon, ginger), at the most fried eggs, an omelette. And they sold tooth-pastes, soaps, pencils, loose cigarettes (you may buy just one cigarette from a pack).

The biscuits stand around the restaurant in large, old-fashioned jars, with glass stoppers. Tea and food is served from a kitchen hatch, the waiters shouting the orders from one end of the restaurant to the other. Later, when the customer goes to the counter to settle his bill, the waiter once again shouts: "Rs. 1.25 from the blue bush-shirt..." The man at the counter is the proprietor, the eldest member of the family, for Irani restaurants have always been family managed. He collects the cash, sells the cigarettes, gives permission to customers to use the telephone (at present at a rupee per call). In front of him is the counter, with printed cards announcing such trite messages as � "We believe in God and trust in cash." Behind him is a large switch-board from which he switches ceiling fans on and off, depending on whether the table underneath the fan is occupied or not.

Seating arrangements are very liberal. Meaning, if there is a chair vacant at the table which is otherwise occupied, you may go and sit on the chair and order your tea. Most of the restaurants also have what are known as family rooms. These are a row of tables with partitions around each individual table. Here, on Sundays, you may go with your family and enjoy in the privacy of the "room", cream cakes and a raspberry drink. Only customers accompanied by women are allowed in family rooms. Sometimes a gentleman takes his lady friend there. Outside the swing-door, there is a little board which informs whether the room is engaged or vacant. Waiters are not supposed to enter until summoned.

The general restaurant normally takes all the leading morning and evening newspapers. The pages of the newspapers are separated so that the maximum number of customers may share the newspapers. Through most of my youth I read newspapers only in Irani restaurants.

There is not much else of entertainment in an Irani restaurant, no music, no floor show. But the Iranis are great centres for social and political discussions. Most of them have regular customers, people from the area. They drink tea, read the evening papers, discuss politics. The bachelors have their omelette and bread, with lots of tomato sauce (which is supplied free), before going home. Though they are Irani restaurants, they are patronised by people from all religions and communities (in fact, I have yet to see an Irani customer in an Irani restaurant). Many years ago, tea was served in separate cups for the different communities, hence a Muslim was served tea in a pink cup (or a pink bordered cup),a Hindu in a green cup, a Parsi or a Christian in other colours. The waiters never asked which community a customer belonged to, they knew by simply looking at them, and they would shout: "One gulabi (pink)." However, with independence and a greater integration, all that has changed.

The Irani restaurants themselves are changing. A number of them have acquired licenses to serve beer, some of them have put in air-conditioners, given their waiters uniforms, started serving tea in a tray (a separate pot of tea, jug of milk, bowl of sugar). The character of most Irani restaurants is lost.

A number of them have even sold their business, mainly to restaurateurs from the South, who serve their own brand of fast food. This was bound to happen with the growing prosperity in the Irani community and their children being sent to colleges. And you cannot expect a college graduate to sit at a counter and apply butter on brun. But a few restaurants still do remain and there is always the memory of the Iranis of he recent past.