In a shop with no name, a dal with plenty of fame

Nagpur: Among the city’s gourmands, ‘Param ki dal’ is legendary. On the 18,000-strong Nagpur Foodies group on Facebook, effusive praise of how Param ennobles the humble lentil dish into something sublime is common. At Satranjipura on Old Bhandara Road, inquiry about the dalwallah prompts almost reflexive pointing in the right direction. And yet, for a first-timer, the place might as well be invisible. Reason? The eatery has no real name. No board, however tiny or rickety, announces its presence. “It’s the place where all the big vessels are kept out front,” a paan seller says. Like quite a few eateries in the West which similarly choose to make themselves obscure by not having any signage, Param remains hidden in plain sight, a haunt for only those who care to seek it out. And when they do, they can’t stop licking their fingers. The tiny, ramshackle place with four tables and benches and a vestibule for a kitchen serves all of three things: Dal, tandoori rotis and a fried rice with tomatoes and onions, fried in butter until it goes a mellow brown. No wonder, the wait for a table can be as long as an hour and a half. Taking a parcel is the most sensible thing. Every other restaurant makes dal that is more or less tasty. So, what exactly is it about Param ki dal that draws the people here from far and wide? “I honestly don’t know, baauji,” the painfully reticent owner, who identifies himself as only Param to this journalist, says. “You will have to ask that to our customers.” Those who love it say the charcoal-fired tandoor gives it an unparalleled smoky flavour, and that the balance of flavours is perfect. Keeping an eye on a large vessel containing boiling dal and kneading dough for the roti, Param reveals that the eatery has been running since 45 years. “My elder brother, my four sons and I run it,” Param, a spindly Sardar with a silver beard and his trademark orange turban, says. Despite the rundown appearance of the place, Param insists that even families don’t hesitate coming here to eat. “The only problem is drunkards from the bars nearby,” he says. True enough, a tipsy man soon totters in and demands food. He is promptly shooed away. Why don’t they spruce up the place or move to a bigger location? “No, no, we have a small business. We make a limited amount every day. This place is enough,” he adds. It’s true. The joint remains open for only five hours a day: 1pm to 3pm and 5pm to 8pm, or until stocks last. They never do. And when they run out, foodies fondly remember Param saying apologetically: “Baauji, khana khatam ho gaya.” No matter. Tomorrow, they will return, like they always do, to the dal shop with no name.