Stolen kisses over chocolate Falooda

coming to terms with being a member of an Indian foodie joint family

• Is Falooda Indian or Persian?

• Recipe: Falooda (paid subscribers only)

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It’s 9 pm, six months since I married and moved from New Zealand to Mumbai, India. My husband, Rushad, and his family have still not decided where we’re going for dinner. It would be nice to go to dinner alone with Rushad at a reasonable time instead of this chronic indecision.

We get zero time alone!

But I’m slowly coming to terms with being a member of an Indian foodie joint family.

Rushad lifts his wheelchair-bound grandma into the front seat, and we all pile into our Honda Jazz and head toward the central city. There’s not enough space for all seven of us in the car, so my sister-in-law and I are sitting, knees folded up, facing each other. In the boot.

As we cross over the Byculla bridge, the brothers have finally decided where we’re going. Zaafraan. To have Dal Makhani and Raan Masala.

My brother-in-law and father-in-law decide to sit next to me so that the only space for Rushad is diagonally opposite to me. So much for hand-holding! I bite back my disappointment.

As the Raan, a juicy, tender, spicy whole leg of goat that smells like it’s spent hours in the tandoor, arrives on the table, I sneak my foot up Rushad’s leg and hear him grumbling in appreciation. From hunger or from my clever seduction, I don’t know.

His grandmother hands him a piece of naan, and we return to focusing on what matters. Balancing the perfect ratio of dahl to raan on the triangle of my naan.

Dinner demolished, we pile back into the car and once again, I’m relegated to the back rather than having the chance to sit next to my husband and hold his hand. Gaaahhh! Joint families!

Just as we’re about to pass Crawford Market - which is an eerily quiet contradiction to its 12 noon chaos - my husband Rushad decides that we need to stop for dessert. It’s 11.45 at night, and the only place still open is Badshah Falooda, an iconic drink shop in Mumbai.

Badshah Cold Drink centre is full of customers from the time it opens at 11 right up until 1am when it closes. It’s an iconic joint at Crawford Market.

Their speciality is Falooda, Zoroastrian Persia’s national drink. A tall, chilled milk drink made with rose syrup, basil seeds and topped with vanilla ice cream.

Our dusty Jazz pulls up to the side of Badshah, and in ten seconds, an old security/valet person has guided our car into a parking space. The place is a jigsaw puzzle of cars and bikes parked three deep, spilling halfway onto the road.

I try not to stare at the young couples balancing on the side of a bike, facing away from the family crowd as they shyly wipe the falooda moustache off each other’s lips. The waiter comes to our car with menus and instantly recognizes Rushad. And to my surprise, me.

“Two Royal Faloodas, 1 Mango Melba and for you sir, falooda with chocolate ice cream”, correct?

If you’re a mango fanatic and manage to go to Badshah, their Mango Melba is fabulous too!

We all sigh in disgust. Who has falooda with chocolate ice cream? It’s an abomination, a betrayal of our Persian heritage!

But Rushad is undeterred. If there’s ice cream, it must be chocolate. That’s his golden rule, and he sticks by that regardless of our opinion.

Our desserts arrive, and Rushad comes to perch next to me in the boot. We sit squeezed together as I bite on my mango in what I hope is a come-on. But Rushad’s eyes are focused on his chocolate ice cream that’s melting into the pink milk underneath.

I can smell the rose aroma as he takes a long slug of the milk, his tongue rolling over the basil seeds. Feeling like a fool for trying to steal a moment alone, I look away. Just as I feel his rough hand touching my chin, pulling me in for a chocolate moustache kiss.

From the front seat, I hear my brother-in-law hooting in laughter. One more kiss, they tease me. Just one more kiss.

While catering in India, I created this boozy falooda in collab with a restaurant for a Parsi new year festival.

The Badshah Falooda legacy and the history of the pink drink

Badshah refers to B A Badshah, who had seven Badshah fruit juice shops in Bombay in the early 1900s. He died at the early age of 38, leaving no children. So, by his will, he left each of his seven shops to one of his loyal employees. The Badshah at Crawford Market was inherited by Merwan Jehangir Irani, Badshah’s manager.

Enter Aspi Irani, a 12-year-old who came to Bombay from Iran and started working at Badshah, cleaning the place, the dishes, and arranging the fruits. Merwan Irani was impressed with the little boy. When he grew up, he gave him his daughter Yasmin in marriage and his shop.

In 2023, this humble shop, where falooda is 65% of their business, turned 118 years old! 

The act of making a small half-glass of falooda for my guests at Navroz is quite the family tradition. Image courtesy Goya Journal.

A common misconception is that Falooda is an Indian drink. However, Falooda originated centuries ago in Persia. From there, it travelled to South Asia with Persian merchants and rulers who invaded the region. It is an essential taste of summer, the original iced frappe, if you will.

My favourite time to have falooda (now that I don’t live in India) is at Nowruz when guests come to visit my haft-seen table. It’s a drink you take your time with and is best enjoyed with conversation or ice cream moustache kisses! 

I was surprised to find that depending on where you drink it, there are many versions of Falooda. The one I know and love is made with rose syrup, milk, basil seeds, vermicelli and topped with ice cream, but there are versions with pandan jellies, dry fruits and even a mango version made with mango syrup and fresh mango that I’d love to try!

The falooda at Dishoom cafe in London is made richer with kulfi instead of icecream and comes dotted with strawberry jelly and pistachios! Image courtesy Dishoom.