<p>These days, it is difficult to miss the Zomato and Swiggy delivery boys zipping about hurriedly on their motorbikes, picking up and delivering orders, all in record time. It may be risky for the boys, but who cares in this fast-paced world where everything is about profits in record time? It is, after all, also a question of survival for the educated, but unemployed youth as they risk their lives in traffic. </p>.<p>Food delivery by the motorbike-borne, uniform-clad youth may seem innovative for this tech-savvy generation. But you see, I am quite familiar with this ‘modern’ system, minus the speed and uniforms. Back in the 1960s, things moved slowly without disturbing anyone. My generation grew up in thinly populated towns, with a big food industry though it was not recognised as one. Nor were there any patented, fancy titles. From traditional breakfasts to evening snacks, to occasional lunches everything was prepared and supplied by families residing in the neighbourhood. </p>.<p>The term caterer was unknown, but we got food from families revered for their traditional cooking and healthy food. These families, hailing from different parts of south India, had settled down in our town and acquainted us with different tastes. It was a family-based service-cum-business where the entire family - young and old, men and women, was involved. </p>.<p>Based on our preference for the day, we could choose either from the Manjappa house, the Nair’s, the Aiyar’s or from the Andhra family. The spread was as good as we get today. Unlike today, orders were placed without any technology or devise. We had two kinds of orders: Younger boys came around after sunset to check on our breakfast requirements – just as a railway caterer does in trains. Next morning, at the scheduled time, he would deliver steaming idlis, dosas, upma or pongal, with two or three varieties of chutneys and sambar. He would transfer the breakfast into our own vessels and go away. No extra cost for delivery, no wasted packing material and no pollution. Everything came neatly packed either in plantain leaves or leaves of a local tree. All completely biodegradable. </p>.<p>The second way, was pick up: We could dispatch somebody, usually a boy of the house, to collect the food in our own containers and rush back home with steaming hot food. For that morning, the boy was the hero! </p>.<p>Even after 50 years, I still remember my father’s guests appreciating me for the breakfast delivery service I rendered for them. In traditional families, then, where women were not allowed in the kitchen for three days in a month, these families who prepared and served food were the only alternative.</p>.<p>As my daughter and grandchildren are now delighted with food delivered at doorstep by Swiggy and Zomato, I myself turn nostalgic about the way food was home-delivered back in my time.</p>
<p>These days, it is difficult to miss the Zomato and Swiggy delivery boys zipping about hurriedly on their motorbikes, picking up and delivering orders, all in record time. It may be risky for the boys, but who cares in this fast-paced world where everything is about profits in record time? It is, after all, also a question of survival for the educated, but unemployed youth as they risk their lives in traffic. </p>.<p>Food delivery by the motorbike-borne, uniform-clad youth may seem innovative for this tech-savvy generation. But you see, I am quite familiar with this ‘modern’ system, minus the speed and uniforms. Back in the 1960s, things moved slowly without disturbing anyone. My generation grew up in thinly populated towns, with a big food industry though it was not recognised as one. Nor were there any patented, fancy titles. From traditional breakfasts to evening snacks, to occasional lunches everything was prepared and supplied by families residing in the neighbourhood. </p>.<p>The term caterer was unknown, but we got food from families revered for their traditional cooking and healthy food. These families, hailing from different parts of south India, had settled down in our town and acquainted us with different tastes. It was a family-based service-cum-business where the entire family - young and old, men and women, was involved. </p>.<p>Based on our preference for the day, we could choose either from the Manjappa house, the Nair’s, the Aiyar’s or from the Andhra family. The spread was as good as we get today. Unlike today, orders were placed without any technology or devise. We had two kinds of orders: Younger boys came around after sunset to check on our breakfast requirements – just as a railway caterer does in trains. Next morning, at the scheduled time, he would deliver steaming idlis, dosas, upma or pongal, with two or three varieties of chutneys and sambar. He would transfer the breakfast into our own vessels and go away. No extra cost for delivery, no wasted packing material and no pollution. Everything came neatly packed either in plantain leaves or leaves of a local tree. All completely biodegradable. </p>.<p>The second way, was pick up: We could dispatch somebody, usually a boy of the house, to collect the food in our own containers and rush back home with steaming hot food. For that morning, the boy was the hero! </p>.<p>Even after 50 years, I still remember my father’s guests appreciating me for the breakfast delivery service I rendered for them. In traditional families, then, where women were not allowed in the kitchen for three days in a month, these families who prepared and served food were the only alternative.</p>.<p>As my daughter and grandchildren are now delighted with food delivered at doorstep by Swiggy and Zomato, I myself turn nostalgic about the way food was home-delivered back in my time.</p>