The sun is down and the lights are on. It is 8 pm and I am on a mission in the port town of Thoothukudi. A friend has just texted me this teaser: “Have you been to the nightclubs of Tuticorin yet?”
I wonder how I have not heard of these before. A port city that was under Dutch and Portuguese rule must have a sparkling night life, I reckon. As I drive down to my destination past commercial complexes, marketplaces and twisted streets, my expectations and imagination soar. I finally reach the evocatively named Gin Factory road, and pause in confusion.
The crisply fried parottas served in Tuticorin nightclubs
The road rolls and ripples with people, cars, scooters, cycles and carts. Islands of stalls add to the chaos. My eyes search for the promised nightclubs, that heady blend of neon lights, chic interiors and pounding music.
That’s when I spot the board: ‘Kumar Night Club’. It is squashed between a variety of boards, all strung with a border of hanging lights, their paint peeling and logos unabashedly garish. I take a closer look to make sure I am in the right place. Instead of the expected images of glamorous clubbers, famous DJs and muscled bouncers, I see a plate piled high with biryani , parottas and tandoori ed chicken legs.
The nightclubs in Tuticorin
Bemused, I roll down my car window and ask a traffic policeman the name and location of any famous nightclub in the city. He smiles delightedly and responds, “Go to the Famous Night Club!” Then adds kindly, “But from here you are closer to Alwar Nightclub.”
As it turns out, Thoothukudi’s small restaurants and hole-in-the-wall eateries are called nightclubs. There are at least 175 of them strewn across the town and the periphery, and though they do brisk business for less than four hours every evening, they dominate the town’s foodscape.
The night clubs in Tuticorin
As it gets more difficult to drive further on the increasingly crowded roads, I abandon my car and walk towards Alwar on Ettayapuram Road. The closer I go, the more crowded it gets. By 7 pm, this nightclub’s front pavement and sidewalks turn into a driveway for scooters and bikes. This is a hotspot for travellers and locals alike. The clientèle is eclectic: labourers dressed in lungis , yuppies in luxury cars, students with backpacks and families.
There is no ambience to speak of, no music, bar or dance floor at this nightclub. Yet, the 150-square-foot eatery is densely packed with at least 40 people digging into what Alwar is famous for — piping hot, deep-fried parottas accompanied with spicy meat gravies bursting with flavours. By 9 pm, it is so packed you can barely move across the space, and despite any misgivings you may have about health and hygiene, it is tough to resist diving in.
T Rajesh, a local resident, says, “It is a taste that has acquired a reputation. You can’t help returning.” Behind him a family from Tirunelveli patiently waits for its turn at the counter, followed by a group of architects from Chennai, medical students from Tiruchi and a newly-married couple from Nagercoil.
The man behind the counter turns out to be N Alwar, the founder. The 65-year-old in a lungi and vest is indefatigable, standing behind an unsteady wooden table and keeping a steady count of parcels, plates and parottas moving out of the kitchen with a slate and chalk. “My only passion is to serve delicious food,” he says, adding, “I come daily by 5 pm to supervise how the food is prepared. We insist on using best quality ingredients.” Alwar worked for eight years in another parotta joint before starting his own in 1983.
The Alwar Nightclub in Tuticorin
Tuticorin’s poricha parotta is a cross between Madurai’s kothu and Virudhunagar’s ennai parotta . “These eateries have evolved mainly because there were not many places to eat out earlier,” says Anjana Motha, who runs Aardvark, a Moroccan-style café in the area. “People are cool about the not-so-clean conditions because they only remember the hot, delicious, meaty curries and sinful parottas .” Jay Mohan, a salt pan owner agrees, stating, “Nobody complains because the taste of the food is certainly the strong point here.”
M Bremanandam, who grew up in Thoothukudi, says there was a time when he used to be a regular at the nightclubs. “The Famous Nightclub and Rajamani Nightclub were among the first ones that came up in the Sixties. With age, I have restricted my visits because I realise the food may be tasty but not healthy,” he says.
A practising doctor KS Ramalingam says he has seen children growing up on the parotta s and meat curries. “Each parotta used to sell for 50 paise, and eventually it was raised to two rupees. Dinner became a feast for poor labourers who could afford the parotta with free salna ,” he says. He, like several other old-timers, says the label ‘nightclub’ stuck because these eateries would open in the evenings to cater to sailors when the ships anchored for the night in the busy port town. Though they used to stay open till well past midnight, now most of these joints wind up by 10.30 pm.
As it turns out, my night out clubbing in Thoothukudi doesn’t turn out to be quite as wild as planned. Nevertheless, it is fun to revel in the glory of the city’s parotta -filled night life, calories be damned. I wind up by eating two at the Famous Nightclub in Shanmugapuram, reportedly 50 years old. No bouncers. No guest lists. No dress code. Yet, it’s legendary.
