Homegrown Writers Talk About The Places They Discovered In Their Cities & Towns In 2025

There was a time this year when I found myself without a home. I had just graduated, was reeling from what felt like a life-altering breakup, and had recently learned that an employment offer I’d received had fallen through — entirely out of my control. Basically, my life was a clusterfuck of everything. Everything was moving at full speed, yet it also felt like it had come to a screeching halt. And in the middle of all this, my two friends and I were hunting for a home in Namma Ooru, Bengaluru.

After shifting between three Airbnbs — plus a brief stay at an Air Force Station — we finally found a house 20 days later, in a neighbourhood we never imagined we’d end up in. Oddly enough, this chaotic period also made me appreciate the city more. The unending traffic, the potholes, even the roadside fights. (Yes, I was truly finding beauty in the mundane. Those were dark times.) But it also showed me how deeply a city can shape you.

Homegrown’s editorial team works mostly remotely, with people plugged in from all across the country — which is why our stories are so diverse and so closely attuned to India’s cultural pulse. And while this year has been packed with big moments — from India’s Women’s Cricket Team lifting their first World Cup to Zohran becoming the Mayor of Mumbai (I’m kidding) — it’s easy to miss the smaller places and experiences that shape our everyday lives.

So here are the spots our team discovered in their respective cities in 2025 that we think you should check out:

Avani Adiga

My friends and I are, quite frankly, hogs. Unapologetic gluttons. If you take us anywhere serving Mangalorean, Andhra, or Malayali food — it’s game over. So sometime in November, one of my friends decided to introduce us to her sacred “spot”: Mangalore Pearl in Ulsoor.

This place is the definition of an old-school gem — a cosy, family-style restaurant that’s been holding its ground for over two decades. By 8 p.m., even on a random Tuesday, it’s packed to the brim. And for good reason. Mangalore Pearl is the kind of spot people swear by: a place for anyone and everyone who shows up craving the comfort of an honest, no-nonsense Mangalorean meal.

Start with their fish curry and red rice, batter-fried calamari, prawn ghee roast, neer dosa, and fish fry. (My mouth is salivating like Pavlov’s dog as I write this.) Wash it all down with the most refreshing glass of kokum sherbet. And no matter how painfully full you are, you must end with their caramel custard. It’s non-negotiable. The service is quick, the menu is wonderfully straightforward, and the food is beautifully unpretentious. You will never — and I mean never — leave this place unsatisfied. In a city that is packed with new restaurants, it's these places that made Bengaluru feel like home. Sitting on that table, cackling with my friends about something silly, reminded me of summers spent in Udupi, when my dad would sneak my cousins and me out — because my grandmother could never know that we ate non-vegetarian food — under the garb of taking us to the beach, only to drive us off for freshly cooked fish.

Mangalore Pearl is open from Tuesday to Sunday, from 12 p.m. to 3:15 p.m., and from 7 p.m. to 10 p.m.

Drishya

Kolkata’s drinking culture has always been a bit… bipolar. Until recently, drinking in Kolkata meant you either nursed a dangerously sentimental relationship with Old Monk long past its prime, or drank cheap whisky in a colonial-era pub in Park Street that probably hasn’t changed its silverware since the Brits left. Of course, there was, is, and always will be Bangla Mawd — Bengal’s own government-approved desi daru — and overpriced rooftop sangrias in Salt Lake only a Sector-V tech bro would pay for, but we have come a long way since then. Earlier this year, I walked into Nutcase Etc. in Kalighat, and I have been going back ever since. Located on the ground floor of Skinny Mo’s Jazz Club, the bar’s Bauhaus-gone-bonkers interiors play host to 35 people at a time. But it’s not the decor that will make you double-take — it’s the cocktails.

The cocktails at Nutcase are less ‘drinks’ and more high-concept existential questions. There’s ‘Tangra Town’, which tastes like you’re drinking your favourite Indian-Chinese takeout — chicken broth, scallion, bell pepper, soy and all. There’s ‘Nutcase Brekkie’, a breakfast cocktail made with cereal-infused whisky and toasted milk, ideal for Bengali men who believe childhood trauma and alcoholism should be served on the same glass; and then there’s ‘Sushi?’, a vegan seaweed-saké-Bombay Sapphire situationship that asks important questions like, “What if your drink judged you for eating things that have a mother?” Megha, the Nutcase “vibe curator”, tells me that there have been some recent additions to the menu, so it sounds like I’m due for my next visit. Nutcase Etc. is open Tuesday through Sunday, 5 PM to midnight.

Mikhail

I'm cheating a little because this isn't really a place I've 'discovered', but bare with me. You see, ever since my family and I moved back to India, the quiet suburban neighbourhood of Kalyani Nagar has been an anchor. It's hard to describe adequately but there's a calm and ease that permeates the air here; a quaint wholesomeness. You see the elderly taking leasurely strolls; children playing and idling the evening away; couples walking hand in hand on their daily walks. It feels like a little slice of serenity amidst the clamour and chaos of a city that's quickly becoming noisier and more crowded with every year that goes past. Before my tenure at Homegrown, I worked at software company in the neighbourhood, just a stone's throw away from where I lived. It was a period of relative internal strife for me: I was dealing with a restlessness and a strange sadness that I couldn't quiet put my finger on. What helped me feel a sense of connection was my commute home in the evenings. It seemed like all that was good and worth fighting for in the world existed right there. I felt the calm of Kalyani Nagar take me into its gentle embrace.

As I prepare to make a fairly large shift in my life, in the shadow of a heartbreak of my own making, I realise that I've often taken my neighbourhood for granted. Despite my angsty adolescent misgivings at the prospect of remaining in my hometown for my whole life, I am so grateful that I've gotten to spend so much of my life here. Over the last few months of this year, I've found myself stopping and paying more attention to the ordinary: the way the sun falls across its cobbled streets; the animated facades of its myriad of cafes; the dogs, cats, and birds that are cared for and fed every single day. There are so many neighborhoods like Kalyani Nagar, both in Pune and across the country, but this slice of my life that's given me so much solace over the years, is a place I'll always call home.

Disha Bijolia

It has been almost 5 years since I moved to my tiny little hometown in Chhattisgarh from Hyderabad. And although I would like to believe that I have moved on, my breakfast will tell you everything you need to know about the impact that city had on me. Most of my days start with a masala dosa, a habit I had picked up during college, and I have yet to find the monotony in it. I live in a secluded hill station with no bars, movie theatres, and fast food chains. And as a writer and a cinephile that hasn't really bothered me. 

This year, however, I found out that there's a new (and only) Shawarma place in town. In Hyderabad, Shawarmas were my after-college ritual, a post-gig comfort after raving till the AM, and a late-night indulgence my friends and I could always agree on when we had exhausted ourselves speculating about our futures. It was that charged time of my life that kicked in every time I visited 'Arabian Nights'.

Over the past year, this simple but delicious street food has been an impetus for me to revisit my old passions and everything that excited me in my young adulthood. As I dig into my old Noam Chomsky collection and my decade-old Soundcloud playlists, I'm amazed by how much power food has as a trigger that can reopen doors to a memory. And I'm comforted by the fact that even as I move forward, there'll always be these little bookmarks to my older selves that I can come back to any time I want.

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