The moment someone said, “Aaj lassi peete hain…” the image that instantly sprang to mind was that of the super-thick, cream-laden, ice-cold lassi at Janata Dugdhalaya, a modest shop nestled beside the railway station in Goregaon, a bustling northern suburb of Mumbai.
Nikhil, Nagendra, and I were inseparable college pals. After lectures at NM College, we’d hop on the local train and return home in the sweltering afternoons between August and October. And if we had any cash left from our modest monthly allowances, lassi at Janata was our guilty pleasure.
“Do full lassi dena, teen glass mein, malai marke.” (Two full glasses of lassi in three cups, with extra cream) – that was our usual order. Each full glass cost just six rupees. So, splitting two glasses between the three of us came to four rupees each—a deal we relished in slow motion.
Nikhil was a sucker for that thick dollop of malai. He’d sneak his spoon into our glasses, trying to scoop some off the top. We’d block him like bouncers guarding a nightclub entrance—spoons up, defense mode on.
Janata Dugdhalaya was a humble little dairy joint run by a group of hefty men dressed in spotless white kurta-pyjamas. They looked like they owned a few tabelas (cowsheds) in the neighboring Aarey Colony. From their tube-lit, phenyl-scented shop, they sold fresh milk, lassi, and other milk-based delights.
Other than the FM radio playing retro Hindi hits, Janata had its own unique soundtrack—the rhythmic clink of spoons on glass chalices. The sounds told their own stories: slurping meant the indulgence had just begun, while scraping indicated the drinker was determined to savour every last drop. The finale was always a ceremonious lick of the spoon, returning it to its shiny steel glory.
In this simple setting, a six-rupee luxury became our haven to unwind, to share stories, and to ponder what mattered most to teenage boys in their wonder years—girls, of course!
Who looked prettier than usual?
Who smiled at us that day?
Who asked to borrow our notes—was it just for the notes?
How could we muster the courage to tie a friendship band on that one pretty girl who barely spoke to any boy?
The real rivalry was between Nikhil and me. We’d boast about the attention we supposedly got, each trying to spark a flicker of envy in the other. Nagendra, the quieter one, just chuckled at our antics.
Birthdays were extra special. The words “Aaj mein lassi pilata hoon” (Today, I’m treating you to lassi) were music to our ears. Birthday cash from parents meant free lassi—and somehow, lassi tasted better when someone else paid. It was three full glasses each. No sharing.
Then came the day final exams ended. With fewer outings and more time spent at home studying, some spare cash magically appeared. That was our cue to splurge on the Kesar-Badam (saffron-almond) lassi—a divine concoction with saffron, nuts, and raisins crushed into the mix, all crowned with a mountain of cream. Even now, more than twenty years later, just the thought of it makes my mouth water.
Ironically, I don’t think we ever concentrated as much during exams as we did when drinking that caviar-like treat—priced at a princely nine rupees a glass, split three ways.
As the years passed, we drifted into different careers and cities. Our meetings became rare, but every once in a while, destiny would align, and we’d find ourselves back at our favorite spot—Janata. By now, our conversations had matured. We spoke of careers, families, investments, and stress. But our order remained unchanged: three glasses of kesar lassi. And we still fought to pick up the bill.
Just like us, Janata Dugdhalaya evolved. From just milk and lassi, it now serves rasmalai and a whole spread of sweet treats—still from that familiar corner near Goregaon station.
Yet, the glass of nostalgia hasn’t changed. Even today, as our spoons scrape the last bits from the glass, we’re transported to those golden teenage years. To us, lassi is more than a drink. It’s a memory, an emotion. A throwback to a time when life was carefree, friendships were deep, and joy came in chilled, creamy servings of six rupees each.
Nikhil, Nagendra, and I now live in different corners of the world, immersed in our busy, grown-up lives. But whenever we reconnect, the invitation remains the same:
“Chal, aaj lassi peete hain.”
Lassi = a sweet Indian delicacy made from curd and sugar, often topped with cream (malai).
