Hipsterfying Adikki

For a while now, I have lamented the absence of Paan from contemporary urban sub-cultures (read “Hipsterdom”). And it is surprising considering the thriving hipster scene currently being perpetrated all over the city by an increasing army of yeng gents. I mean, try taking a walk around The Humming Tree on a day that an obscure Scandinavian shoe-gazing band happens to be performing and not be poked in the eye by a perfectly maintained Bajirao moustache or tickled on the shoulder by a jojoba waxed, well-tapered beard. But today, I’m calling these fuckers out. If you wants to be carrying around that moustache twirl with the confidence of a true connoisseur, you better offer me up a Paan from an ornate, brass, handmade bespoke Adikki Box crafted in the ‘60s by Shivanna Mama, with the assorted paraphernalia that goes into making a paan special. Elsewise, you’re just another dude with interesting facial hair trying to make it in the game after the final whistle has been blown. 

Personally, my first experience with the humble paan (a simple mix of Betel Leaf, lime, and betel nut) was not a memory I’m particularly fond of. I raided my granddads little paan box as a small boy on holiday in Hubli and ended up smearing way too much lime onto my leaf. I spent the rest of the day with numbed tastebuds and an increasing disgust for the habit. I couldn’t, for the life of me, understand the fascination the elderly gents in my family had for supari, or addiki. It tasted like sawdust and had absolutely no gastric merit. My Dad, however, swore by the nut, and to this day enjoys scoring the occasion kilo of betel nuts from Hubli-Dharwad. Like most other folks in the family, my Dad too had a special mix, of betel nut, aniseed, sugar and other spices, ground into a coarse powder and sent pre and post every meal or snack. It’s a ritual, probably only understood by a smoker.

Of course, more recently, I have begun to appreciate the myriad of flavours and funk that is the Indian Paan. I was initiated into it by an Oriya colleague, Patnaik, who ordered his paan with a flair reserved for verse. It went something like this:

“Bhaiya, ek saada. Chuna mat daalna. Laung, elaichi, peppermint, hari patti, dhaniya, saunf, khajoor, meenakshi chutney, salli supari aur geela supari. Thoda nariyal bhi daalna.”

It was not the most elaborate paan order I have heard since, but it was a mighty fine mix. I have adopted this as my standard Paan, albeit with a little less flair as I do tend to add a little bit, just a smear, of Gulkhand.

Pan eating is not a habit that supports or improves social interaction. It isn’t like alcohol where you can be like, “Bob, let’s go and put two paans and get wasted!!”, or like a fag where you can “Put one dum and come back, mama!” Paan is best enjoyed alone. In the presence of one’s own company. That first crunchy bite, the mandatory chewing down to size, the combination of flavours, the slow constriction of the chest, the light guttiness around the palate, the numbing of the throat, these are the things you allow yourself to experience slowly. It is a feeling unlike any other, and it is truly special. And I haven’t even scratched the surface. There is no other, and I mean no other, drug (?) in the world that offers itself up for the level of sophisticated customization as Paan does. There are folks who would travel the worlds end twice over for a Paan made with real Navratan Qimam, not that BS, literally, smeared on your leaf outside Empire. Fuck. That. Shit. You don’t mess with an Indian dudes paan, just like you don’t mess with a black man’s radio. And let me tell you this, the real deal Navratan Qimam is some serious stuff. A hand made mix of tobacco and special spices that elevates your Paan to an unprecedented level of awesomeness. It also induces a light kick, like the first cig of the morning, which doesn’t really matter once the flavours kick in. If you love or hate paan, let your next paan be an expensive wrap with some NQ in it. Trust me, it’s worth it.

On a recent visit to Aurangabad, I made it a point to visit the City’s most famous export, Tara Paan Center, somewhere in the middle of the city’s crowded market area. This guy has made such a killing selling Paan that he now runs two Anand Sweets sized Paan Shops that are housed right opposite each other. Each location has a row of about 6 – 7 dudes making Paan all day. On one side of the old Tara Paan Store is a massive 7 foot tall shelf filled with hexagonal packs of beedis from assorted brands. It was the largest collection of beedis I had ever seen. Each Paan maker had stacks upon stacks of ingredients that he dipped into so quickly that you barely saw what he spooned onto the leaf before he covered it up with the next ingredient. It was altogether a fascinating experience that made me realise someone has to explore this Paan thing more. It deserves its place in the whole gastro revolution boss!

There is one little thing though. In describing the process of eating paan, I have refrained from using the words “tasty” or “delicious”, because let’s face it, it isn’t really. So that then begs the question, is Paan really an item of food or an as yet unexplored area of Nosing and Tasting? Should the Sommelier’s take one for the team here or is it going to fall into the lap of the gastronomes? Are were headed to Paan and Khakra tasting parties soon?

I shudder.