The spice keepers of Mumbai’s Masala Galli

Ashok Khamkar sits at the galla [counter]; he keeps a steady eye on the spices being measured. He welcomes customers, gives supervisory commands, and deftly counts the currency notes, all while talking to this writer. At 78, he is the third-generation proprietor of Ashok Khamkar and Sons, the oldest spice store in Lalbaug, Mumbai. Customers engage in heated conversations with the store assistants, giving precise instructions about how they want their masalas made. Mirchis are sifted in cane soops [winnowing baskets], and the lighter chaff is flung into the air, briefly suspended in a haze of light. It’s a Tuesday morning, and the store seems as busy as ever. “It’s actually very slow-going today. You should come by on a weekend, or at the beginning of Shravan (the festival season) and see what the rush is like then,” Khamkar says with a chuckle.

Lalbaug may be synonymous with Lalbaugcha Raja, the majestic Ganpati idol which rides on the shoulders of the South Bombay neighbourhood every monsoon. But the area is also home to other cultural landmarks and lore beyond its iconic deity. One of them is Masala Galli, or Mirchi Galli. A cluster of arterial roads in the heart of Lalbaug, it houses over 25 shops that sell carefully sourced and locally ground spices. The narrow lanes are a smorgasbord of colour, smell and texture. Different varieties of chillies are piled high in gunny sacks, golden turmeric dries in the sun, and semicircles of dried coconut split open—all arresting the senses. 

One walk through the galli, and it's easy to identify who started it all. Ashok Khamkar and Sons (previously the original G.W. Khamkar and Sons) stands proudly at the very entrance to the lane. The shop, which started in 1933, initially sold only khada masalas or whole spices.

Lalbaug was once one of Mumbai’s industrial neighbourhoods. Mill workers, who were either native to the city or had migrated from the Satara or Konkan regions, lived in neighbouring chawls—small one- or two- room tenements with shared passageways and washrooms. “These workers loved eating rice and spice in all forms. Many shopkeepers started selling chiwda and masalas here to cater to the local population’s demand in their everyday cooking, as well as during events and ceremonies. Now, we sell whole spices, grind them to order, and also offer the same masalas as packaged goods under our own brand," Khamkar says.

 G.W. Khamkar and Sons later expanded and diversified. Today, one can find many Khamkar variants throughout the galli—each operated by a different member of the family. Over the decades, the galli has become, and continues to remain, a core part of Mumbai’s local spice economy. Customers come here once every few months, or annually, and take home freshly pounded spices. 

‍Committed to the ‘grind’

Each store in Mirchi Galli has their own special recipe blend for masalas, that have been meticulously chronicled in ledgers and passed down the family. "Customers tell us what kind of spice mixture they want and we immediately make it for them," an assistant at Ashok Khamkar and Sons says. On offer are innumerable mixes including, but not limited to ‘special Malvani masala’ (this masala, made with red chillies, coriander, nutmeg and other dry spices is crucial to Malvani cuisine, a fiery coastal style of cooking in Maharashtra), ‘special garam masala,’ ‘kanda-lasoon masala,’ [onion-garlic paste] ‘special chicken-mutton masala,’ ‘sambar masala,’ ‘tandoori masala’ and ‘pav bhaji masala.’

Customers come in and give their wholesale orders; nobody orders less than 5 kilograms at a time.

Assistants, in turn, know these recipes like the back of their hands—they write down the customer’s name, the masala and quantity to be made, along with a list of ingredients and their proportions on a long bill-like piece of paper. They look at the surname of the client placing the order, and that too becomes a factor for customising the masala. "Look here,” Khamkar gestures eagerly. "The surname is Parab, a 'kattar' Malvani. Us Khamkars are from the Konkan region and known for our Malvani masala in particular. We understand what kind of flavour profile it should have."

Rahul Kale, Sales and Operations Manager of G.W. Khamkar Masale—the new variant of the store just down the road—says that the process of making masalas has also evolved over time. “Back in the ‘70s and ‘80s, making a masala was a lengthy and arduous enterprise, taking nearly 5 days. People who used to work in the mills and live in nearby areas used to purchase spices from these stores, sun-dry them on the terraces of their own houses and then return to us to get them ground. Masalas used to be ground in chakkis, but this approach burnt the natural oils present in the spices, charring and turning them bitter. Now, we have mechanised, and use dankhis (large machines that look like gigantic mortar- and-pestles) for this process,” he says.

Kale points to the different kinds of whole spices on display, all of which are sourced from across the country. The galli sells five kinds of mirchis—Kashmiri, Byadagi, Reshampatti, Pandi and Lavangi. Most garam masalas like nutmeg, cardamom, cloves, and bay leaves are procured from the spice-rich state of Kerala. Others like coriander seeds, fennel seeds and cinnamon travel all the way from Indore, Rajasthan and Vietnam respectively to Mumbai. They undergo quality checks, are cleaned and then sold.

A dark alley serpentines around the store to open out into a roasting area. Different bags with an assortment of whole spices have been packed and labelled according to customer requests, and are placed in a corner. Men toil away at their massive kadhais—pouring ghee; roasting turmeric, bay leaves and cinnamon; and then gently adding the other spices. Their arms move back and forth, fanning out the masalas to evenly distribute heat, and then folding them gently into a fragrant mound. The roasting area has its own rhythm. The chimneys are blackened with soot, the air thick with the smoky sweetness of each spice.

Once these spices are roasted for about 30-45 minutes, they are taken to the dankhis—the machine’s multiple pillars moving up and down sequentially, pounding the spices into a coarse, aromatic mix. 

“Now, the whole process only takes about 3-4 hours, depending on how crowded we are,” Kale says. “Many who used to live in Lalbaug moved to the northern suburbs after the mills shut down. However, many families have been coming to us for generations to purchase their spices, and they still do—from Western suburbs like Jogeshwari and Borivali, and suburbs beyond Mumbai, like Vasai, Thane, and Dahanu. Our store and galli is so famous that people even come all the way from Pune and Kolhapur,” Khamkar says. Many women make a day out of this endeavour, travelling long distances, waiting till their masalas are pounded and then returning home. “We call it their masala day!” he jokes. 

The stores in Masala Galli also sell the same spice mixtures in packets of 100g and 200g like one would find at a grocery store. “This is just the sales front,” Kale says, of the G.W. Khamkar Masale store. “We have an entirely different office in Lalbaug where our spices are ground and packaged in bulk, which we then sell here. On average, we sell nearly 250-300 kilos of masalas everyday. This helps us cater to customers who want their spices freshly ground and customised, and also to families who want to purchase these masalas in smaller quantities.”

‍A culture of vigilance and care

India is the world’s largest spice producer, exporter, and consumer. Exporting more than 200 spices to over 150 countries, it accounts for one-fourth of the global spice trade. The domestic market alone was worth $10 billion in 2024, making it the world's largest consumer of spices. However, rampant adulteration has dampened the industry’s prospects over the past few decades. Spices of popular brands in India have been detected with colouring agents containing lead, and preservatives like ethylene oxide, which is classified as a Group 1 carcinogen. In fact, in May 2023, Food and Drug Control authorities in Gujarat seized over 3,000 kg of adulterated spices including chilli, turmeric, and coriander powder.

The country’s spice export industry has also come under heat from foreign regulatory boards in the U.S., Hong Kong and Singapore amongst others. In the wake of such incidents, the Indian Council of Medical Research has encouraged consumers to buy whole spices instead of powdered ones in its updated dietary guidelines issued in 2024. “The advisory comes in the wake of mounting evidence suggesting that powdered spices are more susceptible to adulteration, after popular Indian spice manufacturers came under scrutiny for using high levels of pesticides in their spices.”

Sunil Ganapat Kale, 62, the second-generation proprietor of Vishwas Masala Kendra (VMK), cites trust in small, local businesses and allegations of adulteration in commercially sold spices as one of the primary reasons why customers return to Masala Galli. “Here, people get to watch and supervise their spices being ground in-person. Adulteration can happen in a number of ways. Often, chillies that are lightweight, and hence differ in flavour, are used, or turmeric is substituted for besan [gram flour]. Mass-manufactured masalas claim to offer a specific quantity, but a closer look reveals that packaging makes up some of their weight. It’s difficult for lay consumers to identify this,” he says.

“Amhi graahakanna nehemi saangto: kahihi chuk zhaali asel tar amhala kalva” [We always tell our customers: if we have made any mistake then let us know]. Sheetal Rane, who is standing right next to us, and who has been a devoted VMK patron for the last 25 years smiles and says, “There has never come a time when we have had to do this. My mother-in-law used to come here earlier, and now I have taken up this duty. I come here annually and purchase 5 kilograms of Malvani masala and garam masala each. I immediately test them out and use them for my everyday cooking. I have always called to say that the masala tastes excellent, as always.”

Customers say that the stores in Masala Galli display a deep-seated responsibility towards them, and the fact that they can see their masalas being made from start to end are influential factors in drawing them back here.

Such is their loyalty that they queue up outside VMK, braving the sun and the loud noise of the dankhis and watch eagle-eyed to ensure that their masalas are in safe hands. Protective commands are constantly being flung across the store threshold: “Aaho, vyavasteet bhaaza haan” [Please roast the masalas properly] and ‘Mazha masala vegla theva haan, toh Agri masala mazha nahiye” [Make sure that you’re separating and packaging my masalas properly. Don’t confuse it with the other customer’s Agri masala].

Ashu D’Souza, who has travelled all the way from Virar with her son, tells me, “You can’t risk your children’s health. I would rather spend an extra day coming here and making sure that the products I use are healthy. The price is very fair for the amount of effort they put in and the quality of the masalas. Spending an extra few rupees here is better than doling out the same money at a doctor’s office later!”

Why old-school still sells

There are other reasons why Masala Galli has maintained a stronghold in Mumbai’s spice economy, even in the face of mass-produced, packaged and branded masalas. “What we specialise in is completely different from the spice categories of larger brands,” VMK’s Kale says. “Big-name brands have chilli powder, turmeric powder, tandoori masala, garam masala, Kitchen King masala and the like on offer. While these are fast sellers here as well, we have focused on traditional masalas—like Malvani masala, Agri-Koli masala, Ghati masala and Usal masala—a category largely untouched by bigger brands.”

Pradnya Sawant, who moved to Mumbai from Malvan nearly two decades ago after her marriage, says she eagerly experimented with spices from all of the city's local markets. “I bought spices from the smaller spice markets at Crawford, Masjid Bunder, Lalbaug, Mazgaon, Bhuleshwar and Dadar. But I found that Masala Galli’s spices are distinctive, and bring out the flavours of my curries and vegetables in an almost miraculous way. The quality of these spices is so good that you can store them for 2-2.5 years and they won’t spoil. Once I add a few spoonfuls of the Malvani masala, my job is done—the dish takes care of itself,” she says. "If you scale up what a conventional brand charges for small packets, buying in bulk in this street often costs the same, sometimes even lesser," customers say.

To its credit, Masala Galli has also adapted to technological change, the rise of quick-commerce apps, and the challenges posed by the pandemic. Nearly all the stores in the galli accept orders over phone call, and provide free home delivery services in Mumbai, and its extensions like Thane, Navi Mumbai and Palghar. Their masalas are in demand in hotels across Maharashtra and Karnataka. Some of them, like G.W. Khamkar Masale, have also made their products available on apps like Blinkit, JioMart and BigBasket, thus levelling their playing field with more established brands. “We first experimented with online deliveries in the pandemic, when business took a hit,” Kale says. “But soon, this change yielded results. Including online deliveries and in-person purchases, we now sell about 150-200 kg of masalas on average everyday.”

VMK’s Kale reminisces about a time when mill workers’ families used to throng the galli and everybody came together during festival time to celebrate. “Even now, on weekends, we often set up tables and makeshift counters outside the store so that we can cater to the rush of customers with more ease."

"But there was something about knowing each face by name and a different kind of stability in the business—a sort of telepathy and chemistry between customer and shopkeeper. I think some of that still persists, which is why we are still here,” he says. 

Business still feels personal in this corner of Mumbai. During the summers and monsoons, the stores offer customers tea, and set up umbrella shades and table fans for them. “They make sure that the elderly are prioritised,” Rane says. When asked what makes her come all the way to Lalbaug and not order online, she smiles and says, “You speak exactly like my daughter. Every time I go to even a regular grocery store, she is perplexed and asks me—‘Aai, just Blinkit na?’ But coming here reminds me of my childhood. I enjoy the sensory experience of touching the granular halad [turmeric], or taking in the sugandha [aroma] of the garam masalas. Ordering online is just not just the same.”

Ayush, Khamkar’s 22 year old grandson, heir to Ashok Khamkar and Sons and former Captain of India’s national gymnastics team, says, “None of us engage in any kind of fraudulent activities because we are not only conscious of our responsibility towards our customers, and but also of protecting Lalbaug’s reputation.” The socio-cultural homogeneity of Masala Galli’s tight-knit Marathi community is evident—both among the shop owners and their customers. Ayush stops to greet and talk to nearly every one of the shopkeepers during our conversation.

When asked whether he would genuinely like taking over the business, the younger Khamkar smiles. “Oh yes, of course, I do it voluntarily. I made a lot of mistakes in the early days; for example, one of my steepest learning curves was learning to differentiate between spices. For the first few weeks here, one of our oldest assistants kept correcting me when I gave normal coriander seeds to our customers, instead of the green variety they actually wanted,” he admits sheepishly. “I won’t lie—sports keeps calling back to me, also because it runs in my family. I don’t know what decision I will ultimately end up making.”

Ayush’s dilemma echoes across the next generation poised to continue the legacy of Masala Galli. Several proprietors confide that their children are unsure of taking over the business, and keep oscillating between trying their hand at running the store and pursuing further education and other employment opportunities. “Long-time patrons still value the owner’s presence during their visits—it’s become a quiet symbol of trust. While the younger generation is somewhat ambivalent, the strong demand and financial promise of the business is nudging them toward getting involved,” Khamkar says.

Lalbaug and its neighbouring Byculla have long housed different sections of the city’s populace—from mill workers to the mafia—both of which, Khamkar cheekily claims, once frequented the original G.W. Khamkar and Sons. The spatial and social architecture of the regions has changed: chawls have given way to high-rise towers. But in an age of urban anonymity, is a bastion of a personalised food economy tucked into a corner of South Bombay, inviting one to pause—to step out of Mumbai’s consumerist craze. Here, workers quietly pound time into tradition, memory into masala. They may be invisible, but their loyal clientele is proof that human connection is the beating heart of a business, even in the face of technological interventions. 

‍