Light rum, Alphonso mango puree, lemon juice, our homemade
chili and black salt syrup
ABV : 19%
ARAKU coffee, infused with vanilla, vodka, homemade vanilla
syrup, coffee liqueur
ABV : 17%
Gin, gulkand, lime juice
Allergen: Milk
ABV : 15%
Sake, curry leaf-infused vodka, saffron syrup, gold leaf montino
ABV : 11%
Infused with curry leaves – gin/vodka, dry vermouth infused with mustard seeds
ABV : 28%
Iced black tea, rose petals, and rose water
Hibiscus, mint, vanilla, ginger
Choose from plain, sweet, or mango
Toasted cumin, crushed mint, lemon juice
Coca cola, Coca Cola Zero, Sprite, Orangina
Evian, Badoit
Iced black tea, rose petals, and rose water
Jasmine / Assam / Mango Rooibos Infusion
The tandoor is often described in romantic terms — ancient, primal, elemental. Yet beneath its clay walls lies one of the most sophisticated cooking systems ever developed. Long before modern kitchens spoke of convection, radiant heat, or controlled combustion, the tandoor mastered all three simultaneously.
Celebrations are not defined by excess alone. They are defined by togetherness. Across cultures, the meals remembered most vividly are rarely the most elaborate or rarefied. They are the ones shared — dishes placed at the centre of the table, passed hand to hand, tasted communally. Indian cuisine has always understood this instinctively. Long before dining became performative, Indian food evolved as a language of gathering.
Indian menus can look naturally welcoming to vegan and vegetarian diners, but confidence disappears quickly when butter, yoghurt or ghee enters the conversation. A dish centred on lentils may still contain dairy. Naan can arrive brushed with butter, and a vegetable curry may rely on yoghurt for its body. The useful question is not simply whether vegetables are present. It is how the dish is finished.
