Totos' Piano Man Has Played his Last Note

Happiness. Sadness. Helplessness. Doubts. Hopes. Aspirations. For three long decades he was a part of all of it. Wherever we were in the world, I would pick up a phone when I wanted to hear his voice. No matter how long it had been since he heard my voice, whatever the number I was dialing in from, the excitement in his voice never changed: ‘How are you? How is Madam? Are you in Bombay? What time are you both coming?’ 

He was our friend, our philosopher, our confidante, the safe rock on which we leaned, when uncertain futures confronted us. When I left a three decade long career behind to set off on my own to chase my passion and a wild idea, he told me: ‘Do what your heart tells you to. Chase your passion. You’ve worked for others long enough. Look around you. I haven’t done too badly doing what you are doing, have I?’ When I put on too much weight, he told me the hard truth without mincing words. Then when I lost too much, he asked me to beef up to prevent falling sick. He called it as he saw it. A man after my own heart.

His name was Laju Bhatia. The institution he built is Toto’s. A pub to the uninitiated. A temple to the devoted. A place that has no parallel. A Cheers, that actually exists.

Laju created a world where each person would feel they belonged. A safe haven from the mad world outside to all. A gin joint where every woman sitting alone with a beer feels safe. A place that makes strangers friends for an evening, or life, but respects privacy when it is sought. And for us, a home we could always go back to. A safe space where we would be greeted by name with a demonstration of genuine happiness and warmth by every member of staff. Where your drink and your favourite dish were placed in front of you as it had been for years, without you having to order. Where you walked in, looked around, and smiled with contentment.

There are millions who have walked into Toto’s over the past 33-years, but few know its real story. Laju was an engineer by profession. A shop floor accident involving chemicals took away much of his eyesight. Most of us would have given ourselves to self-pity. Many would have had lives defined by their near-blindness. But Laju Bhatia was no ordinary human. He looked at his misfortune as an opportunity. With his good friend Totlani (hence the name Toto’s), who owned a garage space in Bandra, he set about transforming it into a place that would become a Mumbai icon.

He dealt with logistical challenges as he had done with his near-blindness. Impossible to move that car? No problem. Let it stay right there. We will turn it into our bar. That other one where there is only half a frame? Attach it to the ceiling. This is a small space, that's where the DJ will sit. This is a garage, so that becomes our theme. We shall call this Toto’s Garage Pub. Decor? Use the tools, the wheels, the number plates, whatever is lying around, and put them on the walls. We will then ask our customers to get us any spare number plates they may have lying around, no matter where in the world they come from. Music? We will play what WE like. 1980’s and 90’s music. Today and forever.

And so Toto’s came into being. In 1992. A pub that defied all norms, as Laju himself was doing. He was there every single evening for the next 33-years, with about two weeks off each year to get his eyes checked and treated in the United States where his children lived. His colourful Hawaiian shirts and dark glasses became as iconic as his pub. Few knew his story and most treated the dark glasses as a fashion statement. And in time, it did become a part of the personality, and the legend. 

A decade and a half ago Laju Bhatia decided the DJ sitting atop the half-car suspected from the ceiling, would not take requests any more. It was a distraction people didn't need. For us, however, nothing changed. As we settled down at our table and the first drinks arrived, I would get a tap on my shoulder from one of the servers who had taken our first orders in the 1990’s. He would point up at the DJ and say: ‘Here’s your song.’ And floating from the speakers around the room would come the opening notes of Billy Joel’s Piano Man. 

For twenty-eight years, the song that defines Toto’s for us, and everything it means to us, never failed to play. In the days, months and years to come, Billy Joel’s voice will ring out again, but our bearded friend in his Hawaiian shirt and dark glasses will never again come and sit with us, and ask how we are, not just to make conversation, but because he genuinely cared. This week, at 10pm on a buzzing Friday night, having played the best second innings anyone could hope to, Laju Bhatia walked out of his beloved Toto’s one last time. The Piano Man had played his last note. 

Thank you for making our lives better. Thank you for your friendship. Thank you for Toto’s. Thank you for the memories. And above all, thank you for being you. Rest in peace my friend.