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Explore how Kolkata's pice hotels continue to serve comforting Bengali meals, despite the rise of food delivery apps

How Kolkata’s ancient pice hotels have survived in the era of Swiggy-Zomato

Serving comforting Bengali food, these establishments in Kolkata have been tapping into a longing for the taste of home for over a century

Over the past year, Ruma Bose’s life has taken a dramatic turn. From being a housewife with two sons—one in college and another an employed professional—she has now become a full-time restaurateur. This shift was brought about by the customers of Parbati, a pice hotel that her grandfather Joydeb Kundu had started in the heart of Kolkata 113 years ago. Later, her father, Sailen, took charge of the business until their century-long home run came to a screeching halt upon his passing in 2021.

“It had remained shut for over two years. People would run into us on the streets and tell us that the shuttering of Parbati was an immeasurable loss to them. It made me and my mother think we should get back to it. We couldn’t let such a big part of this city’s legacy wither away just because we are scared of doing something we hadn’t before,” says Bose.

A sense of familiarity

The legacy she mentions is not just of her own establishment, but of the pice hotels unique to the city of Kolkata. The term “pice”, derived from the Hindi word paisa, or the lowest denomination of the Indian rupee, denotes the egalitarian nature of these eateries that have dominated the socio-cultural landscape of the city for over a century by serving traditional Bengali food on banana leaves, originally priced at just a paisa. These “hotels” fed and fuelled the working classes and busy office-goers who only had a moment to steal a bite.

The term “pice”, derived from the Hindi word paisa, or the lowest denomination of the Indian rupee

The term “pice”, derived from the Hindi word paisa, or the lowest denomination of the Indian rupee

These eateries that have dominated the socio-cultural landscape of the city for over a century. Image: The Established

These eateries that have dominated the socio-cultural landscape of the city for over a century. Image: The Established

“People who are away from home come to us to eat home food. How can we think of profits?” asks Bose, for whom some of her repeat customers have been coming to Parbati Hotel since she was a kid. “I am still learning on the job, so even if I make a mistake or two, they forgive me. During lunch hours, we mostly see college students and office-goers. At dinner, workers from the neighbourhood markets unwind here.”

An average vegetarian meal comprising a serving of rice, daal, and two traditional Bengali preparations of vegetables—a shukto or ghonto—costs between ₹ 50 and ₹80 across most pice hotels, while a non-vegetarian meal comprising a fish, egg, chicken or mutton preparation costs between ₹100 and ₹250. But regardless of what one orders, every dish is made with the freshest of ingredients bought on the day itself.

 Some decades ago, one would find Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose dining at the Swadhin Bharat Hindu Hotel, established in 1913 by Man Gobinda Panda. Image: The Established

Some decades ago, one would find Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose dining at the Swadhin Bharat Hindu Hotel, established in 1913 by Man Gobinda Panda. Image: The Established

Tarun Niketan was established in 1915. Image: The Established

Tarun Niketan was established in 1915. Image: The Established

“Even if I have a bad meal at home, I’ve never had a bad meal here,” says Gagandeb Sen, who’s been a regular at Tarun Niketan—a pice hotel only a kilometre away from Parbati Hotel—for the past 42 years. Tarun Niketan was established in 1915. Sen is 74 and retired now.

“I was a measly bank clerk back in the day and would look forward to my lunch break here every day. I am originally from Shyambazar (in the north of Kolkata), but eventually shifted to this neighbourhood (Kalighat in south Kolkata) so I could be close to my workplace. But if you ask me to be honest, I’d say the bigger reason was so I could continue eating here,” he laughs.

"IT'S LIKE A HOME KITCHEN ON A COMMUNAL SCALE"

Amarnath Deb

The chitol machher muittha at Tarun Niketan is Sen’s favourite. “In the 1980s, it would cost one rupee for a plate. Today, it’s around ₹50, which, frankly, is nothing for the quality of food they offer. Where else would you find a hearty, healthy meal like this at dirt-cheap rates in 2024?” he asks, while waiting to be served his lunch. 

The tradition of feeding the commoner 

Such wholesome, homestyle meals for the common folk on the go have existed in other parts of India as well. Whether it’s a mess serving traditional Andhra food across not just Andhra Pradesh and Telangana, but parts of Tamil Nadu and Karnataka as well, a “bhojanalaya” traversing the north-south and east-west expanse of the country, or even the Punjabi dhaba—inexpensive eateries catering to the common person is not a novelty. But what sets the pice hotels apart is their modus operandi. “We don’t really have a fixed menu unlike the dhabas and the bhojanalayas that have a thali (plate) system. Ours is a market-to-table approach, and we only cook with seasonal ingredients. Imagine a home kitchen, only on a communal scale,” says Amarnath Deb, fourth-generation owner of Tarun Niketan.

The pice hotels have been synonymous with home for people from varying walks of life for years. Image: Unsplash

The pice hotels have been synonymous with home for people from varying walks of life for years. Image: Unsplash

Pice Hotels continue to serve traditional Bengali food on banana leaves, originally priced at just a paisa. Image:

Pice Hotels continue to serve traditional Bengali food on banana leaves, originally priced at just a paisa. Image:

At his eatery tucked away in a quiet nook of a bustling street on a busy October afternoon, a policeman pauses for lunch, sitting opposite two college-going women. An elderly lady next to them asks for a second helping of rice while refusing the daal. She measures out her portions carefully, leaving her banana leaf plate squeaky clean. “There’s no wastage here because you eat exactly how much you want to, like you do at home,” says Deb.

The pice hotels have been synonymous with home for people from varying walks of life for years; Sudip Gupta can vouch for it. A native of Patna, Gupta moved to Kolkata five years ago to work at a multinational company located a few blocks away from Parbati. He discovered it in his fifth month of living in the city and hasn’t looked back since. “They make the rui machh exactly the way I have it at my home. I was quite devastated when they shut, so I can’t be more grateful that they reopened,” he says.

A hit among local vendors, businessmen and traders, Jagannath Hotel starts buzzing by 11 o’clock in the morning—nearly two hours before the usual lunchtime in the city. Image: The Established

A hit among local vendors, businessmen and traders, Jagannath Hotel starts buzzing by 11 o’clock in the morning—nearly two hours before the usual lunchtime in the city. Image: The Established

Only a month ago, Bengali filmmaker Kamaleshwar Mukherjee visited Jagannath. Image: The Established

Only a month ago, Bengali filmmaker Kamaleshwar Mukherjee visited Jagannath. Image: The Established

An hour after Gupta comes for lunch, at around 2 pm, a bus driver who visits every day sits at the table next to his. The modest pice hotel is a universal leveller like no other in Kolkata. “We have to cater to everyone, and that’s the beauty of a pice hotel. How can we hike our prices? We don’t revise our rates beyond ₹10 or ₹15 for every item each year,” says Bose.

The struggles of keeping the pice hotels alive

For Bose, resuscitating her ancestral heritage, however, would have been a distant dream had she not received help from her two sons, filling in for her and manning the accounts every now and then. It has also, in turn, instilled in her the confidence to carry out renovations in the near future—perhaps  install an air conditioner or two—to make the experience a shade more pleasurable in a city that has punishingly hot summers. But that’s the extent of “modernisation” she is willing to indulge in, for now, much like Deb, who has never thought of an “expansion plan”. 

“EVEN IF I HAVE A BAD MEAL AT HOME, I’VE NEVER HAD A BAD MEAL HERE”

Gagandeb Sen, a regular at Tarun Niketan for the past 42 years

“That would make it too commercial and would take me further and further away from fresh supplies. I’d have to depend on frozen or stale food, and that’s absolutely out of the question,” says Deb. But will the generation after him take an equal amount of interest in keeping Tarun Niketan alive? “Absolutely,” he asserts. “They will, I am certain.”

It’s what Sandip Mondal also did once his father—who started the Jagannath Hotel in 1978 in the old business hub of College Square in north Kolkata—retired. A hit among local vendors, businessmen and traders, the pice hotel starts buzzing by 11 o’clock in the morning—nearly two hours before the usual lunchtime in the city. Nestled on the ground floor of a commercial building, it is split between two floors with a capacity to seat 50 people at any given time. They must, however, be willing to share a table with strangers. “We were in a slightly different location in the same neighbourhood until some years ago when the building fell and our hotel got destroyed. I was worried we’d lose our customers, but we didn’t; they’ve remained loyal to us,” says Mondal, pointing to a lady across from him. She sells vegetables at the local market. “She’s been coming to us for years now and orders a vegetarian meal for around ₹60. We charge her less sometimes,” he says.

Ruma Bose took over Parbati Hotel after her father passed away during the COVID-19 pandemic. Image: The Established 

Ruma Bose took over Parbati Hotel after her father passed away during the COVID-19 pandemic. Image: The Established

An average vegetarian meal costs between ₹ 50 and ₹80 across most pice hotels like Parbati Hotel (pictured here), while a non-vegetarian meal costs between ₹100 and ₹250. Image: The Established

An average vegetarian meal costs between ₹ 50 and ₹80 across most pice hotels like Parbati Hotel (pictured here), while a non-vegetarian meal costs between ₹100 and ₹250. Image: The Established

Animesh Saha, a dairy trader, has also been a regular at Jagannath for the past decade. Despite the modern comforts of online food delivery apps, he chooses to step out for lunch every day. “It’s just not the same with ordering food online. They serve you fresh food here; how can you guarantee the same when you order online?” he asks. Moreover, one can’t survive on “restaurant junk” every day. “It’s a hassle to carry a full meal from home, and how much can you order in or eat out at restaurants? In such cases, pice hotels really are the best,” says Saha.

In the past month, however, Mondal has warmed up to the idea of signing up for home deliveries after losing a fraction of his clientele to the growing ecosystem of digital transactions, especially after the COVID-19 pandemic. This means some of his customers are running their business from their homes on their phones. “They don’t feel the need to come to their shops or offices every day like they used to before the pandemic—you know, to collect payments, because that happens online now. I lost about 20 per cent of my customers like that, which isn’t a lot, but what’s the harm in winning them back through online deliveries?” he says.

“PEOPLE WHO ARE AWAY FROM HOME COME TO US TO EAT HOME FOOD. HOW CAN WE THINK OF PROFITS?”

Ruma Bose

 “She’s been coming to us for years now and orders a vegetarian meal for around ₹60. We charge her less sometimes,” says Sandip Mondal  about the vegetable seller from the local market who is a regular at Jagannath Hotel in College Street

“She’s been coming to us for years now and orders a vegetarian meal for around ₹60. We charge her less sometimes,” says Sandip Mondal about the vegetable seller from the local market who is a regular at Jagannath Hotel in College Street

Despite the modern comforts of online food delivery apps, many choose to step out for lunch every day. Image: Unsplash

Despite the modern comforts of online food delivery apps, many choose to step out for lunch every day. Image: Unsplash

But has he ever considered branching out to set up ancillary businesses in the hospitality sector? “No, never felt the need,” he says.

An illustrious legacy

A part of the reason behind the resistance to such seeming “upgrades” has to do with the singular goodwill and loyalty the pice hotels individually enjoy from their customers, many of whom have been luminaries in their fields. Only a month ago, Bengali filmmaker Kamaleshwar Mukherjee visited Jagannath. “The popularity will get diluted if we branch out,” says Mondal. “During my father’s time, so many celebrities from the yesteryears would visit,” he shares.

Some decades ago, in a neighbouring lane, one would find Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose dining at the Swadhin Bharat Hindu Hotel, originally known simply as the “Hindu Hotel”, established in 1913 by Man Gobinda Panda. On its wall hangs his portrait, next to one of Indian nationalist and philosopher Aurobindo Ghose—like the hotel’s very own wall of fame. Currently run by Man Gobinda’s grandson Arunansu, the Swadhin Bharat Hindu Hotel continues to draw political heavyweights and young student leaders alike, considering its proximity to the iconic Presidency University (where Subhash Chandra Bose studied until he was expelled in 1916).

“We’ve seen so many well-known people come and go,” says Pintu Mahishal, the establishment’s manager for the past 30 years. As he goes about his day, a man walks into the hotel, up to the cash counter, and helps himself to some mouth freshener without exchanging a word with Mahishal. The man is a local and a regular at the hotel for as long as Mahishal can remember. “That’s just how we function here—informally,” he says. “We know who eats exactly what and we will keep that prepared for them when they come,” he adds. In fact, they go so far as to make note of which fish a regular customer prefers in a particular season. “That’s what you’d do at home with family too, isn’t it?” he asks.

“IT’S JUST NOT THE SAME WITH ORDERING FOOD ONLINE. THEY SERVE YOU FRESH FOOD HERE”

Animesh Saha

The chitol machher muittha at Tarun Niketan used to cost one rupee in the 1980s. Today it's around  ₹50. Image: The Established

The chitol machher muittha at Tarun Niketan used to cost one rupee in the 1980s. Today it's around ₹50. Image: The Established

Regardless of what one orders, every dish is made with the freshest of ingredients bought on the day itself. Image: The Established 

Regardless of what one orders, every dish is made with the freshest of ingredients bought on the day itself. Image: The Established

When her own people abandoned her, it’s this family that a young and sprightly Indubaala (played by Subhashree Ganguly)—from the Bengali web show Indubaala Bhaater Hotel (2023)—finds while running a “bhaater hotel (a synonym for pice hotel) from her old Calcutta home, feeding the Naxal revolutionaries in the 1970s. Cut to the 2000s, Indubaala, now an octogenarian with failing knees, has continued to run the show by cooking each meal at her hotel with her own hands.

It’s this stuff of legends that leads a college girl, Sanchari, to come looking for Indu’s renowned kochubaata (taro root paste), which she, however, has stopped making. Upon learning that Sanchari comes from a small town and lives by herself in Kolkata, Indu decides to resume making kochubaata, so that Sanchari never has to feel like she doesn’t have a home in the big city. Because food, after all, bears the greatest memory of home, and for the people of Kolkata, the taste of home might just come from the kitchen of a nondescript, ancient little “hotel”.

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Arshia Dhar profile imageArshia Dhar
Arshia Dhar is a writer-editor whose work lies at the intersection of art, culture, politics, gender and environment. She currently heads the print magazine at The Hollywood Reporter India, and has worked at The Established, Architectural Digest, Firstpost, Outlook and NDTV in the past.

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