If Mumbai had a heartbeat, it would probably sound like the crunch of a perfectly toasted brun maska pav or the sizzle of a deep-fried vada pav. This humble bread isn’t just food—it’s a way of life, a great equaliser, and possibly the only thing in Mumbai that remains inflation-proof. From the first bite in the morning to the last hurried snack before catching the last local, Pav is the city’s most loyal companion.
The relationship between Mumbaikars and Pav is deep, emotional, and slightly obsessive. Whether it’s the iconic vada pav fuelling hungry office-goers or the buttery indulgence of maska pav paired with Irani chai, this fluffy creation keeps the city moving. There’s an old saying, “Mumbai me kabhi koi bhooka nahi sota” (No one sleeps hungry in Mumbai), and if you dig deeper, you’ll find that pav plays a major role in this edible socialism. A single pav is almost equivalent to one or two chapatis, but let’s be honest, who wants chapati when vada pav is an option?
For every struggling person who arrives in the city with nothing but big dreams and an empty wallet, vada pav is a survival kit. I, too, have been there. Back in my days of battling rent, traffic, and life, vada pav was my go-to meal. Two vada pavs in the morning, and I was set for the day. Who needs fancy protein diets when you have deep-fried potato goodness stuffed inside a pillowy pav, served with gunpowder chutney? It’s the ultimate nutrition plan—endorsed by broke bachelors and last-week-of-the-month salary survivors across Mumbai. When budgets are tight, and the craving for outside food is real, there’s always vada pav. It’s affordable, reliable, and doesn’t judge you for ordering five at a time.
Historically, pav owes its existence to the Portuguese, who brought it to India’s western coast. But while history may claim it was their invention, Mumbai made pav its own. This versatile bread is the backbone of street food, adapting seamlessly to every dish—pav bhaji, misal pav, dabeli—you name it. It’s not just food; it’s an edible cushion that soaks up every spicy, buttery, or tangy flavor that the city throws at it. No Michelin-starred restaurant in Mumbai can ever replicate the magic of a street-side vendor slathering butter on a pav and tossing it on a hot griddle until it turns into a golden, crispy delight.
But, like every beloved star, our Mumbai pav is under threat. The Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation (BMC), in its newfound zeal for cleaner energy, has decided to prohibit the use of wood and charcoal in bakeries. A noble cause, but at what cost? Bakers are now worried that this will disrupt pav production, making it pricier and potentially affecting the sacred affordability of vada pav and misal pav. Imagine a world where vada pav costs Rs 30 instead of Rs 15—horrifying, isn’t it?
The Indian Bakers Association has already expressed concern, pointing out that pav is a staple in Mumbai’s daily diet. The BMC’s decision follows a Bombay High Court directive to shift from traditional baking methods to cleaner fuels like electricity, CNG, PNG, and LPG. But here’s the catch—many traditional bakeries aren’t built for this transition. Their iconic dome-shaped ovens, spread across compact 150-square-foot spaces, aren’t designed for electric baking. Switching to LPG and PNG isn’t just inconvenient but also potentially hazardous—imagine a bakery lined with ten LPG cylinders waiting to cause citywide panic.
If these traditional baking methods are phased out, pav prices could rise from Rs 3 to Rs 5, sending ripple effects across Mumbai’s entire street food ecosystem. Suddenly, our beloved vada pav, misal pav, maska pav, and dabeli will no longer be ‘the people’s snack’ but a luxury. The city that survives on affordable food could face the unthinkable—overpriced pav. And if we are all being nudged toward healthier eating habits, isn’t traditionally baked bread healthier than those cooked with artificial gas heat?
Mumbai has already become expensive—our rent, travel, and even cutting chai have all felt the pinch. Pav was the last affordable hero standing, and now, it too is under threat. Dear BMC, if you must save the environment, please do. But while you’re at it, could you also save the spirit of Mumbai—the pav? Let’s not make the one thing that unites Mumbaikars across all classes a victim of modern bureaucracy.
