Mohammed Meeran scoops a ladle of golden-orange biryani onto a plate and hands it to a hungry customer, a light smile playing on his lips. Another customer arrives on a bike; a couple of boys hop off from a bicycle. Soon, a small crowd forms in front of his shop that also serves as his kitchen. Meeran is the cook, the waiter and the owner of the hole-in-the-wall restaurant on Dr. Besant Road in Triplicane. “It’s not easy being a biryani master,” he tells us earlier in the day, as he stirs a 20 kg pot of basmati rice simmering in a deep-red concoction of spices and meat. “It took me several years of waiting and observing to become one.”
So, who is a biryani master? “Someone who’s adept at making biryani, of course,” says Askar Hassain, chuckling. Can anyone become a master? “No,” he says. “That’s where the trick lies. A master may have five helper boys hovering about, chopping vegetables and doing odd jobs. But just one or two amongst them gets to become a biryani master himself,” he explains. “You need to have it in you. Kai pakkuvam , as they say. The master will take notice of the helper who’s most observant and gifted and will take him under his wing.”
Askar has been a master for over 20 years. The 62-year-old came to Chennai in his twenties to work in a transport company. “I stayed at a rented house in Royapettah then. The ground floor was let out to a biryani master. I would observe them at work every day. Soon, I joined the team as a helper to peel onions and cut tomatoes.”
A biryani master is highly respected. “The job pays you more than a bank or an IT company,” says S. Shama, who owns four biryani outlets in Triplicane. “The senior masters make up to Rs. 1,200 a day, working less than five hours.” A day’s wage starts at Rs. 750. The more experienced the master, the better he is paid.
It’s not easy to make that perfect biryani, that too in mammoth quantities. “The stage when the par-boiled rice is added to the spice and meat masala is crucial. The master has to function with utmost precision and speed, or else the entire batch will go waste,” explains Shama. It takes years to get this right.
“And plenty of patience and a thick skin,” according to Meeran. “When you’re a helper, you’re at the master’s command. You do as he asks,” he says. “Not every master is open to sharing his trade secrets. Until he decides you’re worthy enough to absorb all that he learned over several decades, it’s a difficult life. You just chop this vegetable or clean that dish with no idea of what you’re doing.”
The more experienced of masters graduate as wedding cooks. They hire a team and a room of their own and are busy throughout the year. Tippu Street, Begum Street, Mohammed Hussain Street… every narrow by-lane off Dr. Besant Road is said to house at least five biryani masters. Biryani is the lifeblood of this locality: the soot-smeared aluminium troughs and gigantic ladles employed for the purpose peek from every odd corner; walk by the stretch at noon and you are assaulted by the sweet smell of ginger and garlic frying in oil and the clang of metal against metal as the pots are hauled from their resting places and placed over the stove.
“The area has a 1000-people-strong biryani ecosystem,” says Lookman Ali, who owns two restaurants on Triplicane High Road. “Every person you bump into will have something to do with biryani.” Shama says that in the last six months, 18 new biryani outlets have cropped up along the road. “The story goes that you can never run into losses if you enter the food business in Triplicane,” he adds. “In the next five years, this road will be similar to the cramped Ritchie Street; only every shop here will be food-related.”
There are some biryani masters whose names are uttered with the ‘bai’ prefix out of respect. Dhinu Bai, Razaaq Bai, Noor Bai… These are the best masters of all time, who trained several young men over the years. Can we meet them? “Of course not,” Shama laughs. “You can’t catch hold of them that easily. No one can say where they’ll be now. But you can be sure of one thing — they’re making biryani somewhere.”
