David Belo was in a good mood, as he steered his beloved Fiat 1100 into a sharp left turn, on a somewhat broken country road. It was developing into a warm morning (we’d started late because of a leisurely benne dosa breakfast), but it was still a beautiful one — the sun was suspended against a blue sky and an enthusiastic breeze had set in, swirling through the car’s cabin and causing David’s flowing locks to aesthetically fly in different directions; this could well have been the scene of an Esquire cover shoot, I thought. Some of his favourite (rather intense) music was belting out of the car’s speakers, and his fingers were keeping time on the aftermarket Momo steering wheel.
We were winding our way to a remote lake just outside Mysuru, and I was doing my best impression of a navigator from the passenger seat, using a tulip chart called Google Maps. Even this omnipotent entity sometimes becomes confused, however, so as we rounded the bend, David slowed down when he saw a local man, smoking a beedi with studied determination. In absolutely flawless Kannada, he asked the chap something, and I was mildly taken aback, despite having heard him speak the language on several occasions prior to this. The man with the beedi was clearly dumbfounded, and struggled for a moment to produce words, before pointing vaguely and making Kannada-adjacent noises. I couldn’t blame him; from where he stood, it must have seemed like a Wayfarer wearing Jesus himself had rocked up in a classic car, asking for directions.
I’m sure David gets this a lot. The South African has made Mysuru his home for over 12 years, and he’s gone fully native — he took Kannada lessons, his accent a delightful mix of Cape Town and Mysuru, he’s set up a business there and, importantly, he drives around in a smashing Fiat 1100. His story, really, is of a man who sought renewal in a foreign country and, in the process found himself a home as well as a passion for chocolate, all steeped in Mysuru’s vibrant spirit.
It’s impossible not to be taken in by his unwavering dedication to embracing his adopted home. The city wasn’t a totally random pick. ‘Before moving to India, I’d hung up my apron as a bartender in London, before taking up sourdough bread baking’ he said. “I had a brief stint back behind the bar at a Scottish fine dining restaurant (with the UK’s biggest whisky selection at the time) before I decided it was time to get back to a place with sunshine…
…mangoes, tea and cricket.’ Mysuru ticked all of these boxes, and the city seems to have seeped into his soul. I’m not surprised in the least — I spent the best part of four days there and fell in love with the place myself. There’s a certain rhythm there, a way of life that’s both old and refreshingly present, which resonated with me.
During this time, a small but lifechanging event took place in David’s life. ‘I don’t think a craftsman does well to remain stagnant’ he said. ‘I’d experimented with chocolate confectionery while baking in the UK, and really began taking note of the bean-to-bar craft chocolate movement that was developing everywhere; that was around the time I moved to India. One day, a friend staying in Mysuru produced some cacao beans she’d found in Gokarna. That day was the beginning of a 12-year journey with Indian-origin cacao.’ He saw an opportunity to blend his culinary expertise with locally sourced ingredients, and the seed — or bean — of an idea for what would become Naviluna (meaning ‘peacock’ in Kannada) had been sown.
Finding just the right place to house his chocolate-making enterprise took a while, but he hit the mother lode when he found a 152-year-old bungalow, its grandeur somewhat faded but its potential undeniable. David saw beyond the peeling paint, and with a keen eye for detail, he transformed the building into his factory, cafe and store. ‘Raghava Sadhana, a joint-family home that was built in 1872 and served as a home for 11 successive generations, had been empty for 18 years when I began the planning and design of the project in 2017. We began the civil work in September 2020, and completed phase one in March of this year,’ he said.
If what I saw was only ‘phase one’, I can’t wait to witness what the fully complete building will look like. It’s absolutely beautiful even now — a haven for Naviluna’s flavour bomb chocolates, a cozy cafe (with the best iced chocolate I’ve ever had) and a delightful retail space. The bungalow perfectly echoes the timeless elegance of David’s beloved Fiat, too; seeing the car glistening in the late-afternoon light in Naviluna’s driveway was a sight, I can tell you. The Fiat completed an aspect of Indian life that David hadn’t conquered — driving. Indeed, he didn’t know how to drive for the longest time, and relied on a scooter and public transport to get around. But then, the spirit of adventure that had led him to India in the first place surfaced again. Ten days after acquiring his first-ever four-wheeler driving license in Mysuru, he made himself the proud owner of a 1972 Fiat 1100 (as one does).
‘The car stood out to me the moment I first saw one in Mysuru, back in 2011. Its classic late 1950s/ early 1960s silhouette matched the mid-century Art Deco accents in the architecture of the city, and spoke of the interplay between late baroque and vernacular architecture, all set against a tropical backdrop of coconut palms, country hills and ebbing rivers. I always felt it symbolised a sort of ‘tropical classicism’ David said. ‘It conjures up images of a South Indian gentleman, in black and white photos, with a pencil moustache, crisp white shirt and a side parting. With its Italian design sense, yet strong Indian heritage, it invokes an East-West design dialogue that I quite enjoy.’ I couldn’t have put it better myself.
It’s a heck of a conversation starter, that’s for sure. Restored to (most of) its original glory, the Fiat’s sleek lines and chrome detailing harken back to a more graceful era of motoring, perfectly complementing Mysuru’s architectural gems. It’s not the fastest car on the road, and it has its niggles (principally a recalcitrant gearbox), but it oozes so much character that every drive is an adventure, and a reminder of a simpler time. David bought the car from a doctor in Bengaluru who’d done quite a bit of work on the engine, body and cabin. After that, he enlisted the help of a friend — a metal artist and avid classic car collector — who helped carry out a slew of mechanical upgrades (steering shaft, engine
hoses, timing chain and gear, fuel pump et al). He then found a very senior, charismatic and chatty mechanic who’d been working on these cars for over 50 years, to install a few other small bits and bobs. ‘Besides a few minor electrical issues, the only remaining jobs are to add a new gearbox as well as disc brakes, for more effective braking during long-distance weekend trips,’ he said.
The sight of David bustling around the streets of Mysuru in the Fiat is a spectacle in itself. The real showstopper, however, comes when he steps out and greets passersby in fluent Kannada. The initial look of amusement on their faces melts
into genuine surprise and heartfelt conversation. That’s the best part about the car, I thought — the connections it creates. The city, the car, the language — they’ve all become a part of who David now is, clearly.
I asked him about other cars that he wanted to put in his garage. ‘I’m a big fan of Aston Martins, especially the DB MK III, but the ideal next car for my collection would be a 1966 Porsche 911. My love for cars is an extension of my love of design. Personally, I’m less engaged with the mechanics and operations of a car and more interested in the design exercise each model embodies — from the silhouette to the interiors. For me, a car is mobile architecture, and it needs to be elegant and graceful,’ he replied, perfectly mirroring my own views.
When I thought about it later, David’s story is a testament to the transformative power of embracing the unknown, of finding a home in the most unexpected places; he’s consciously creating a life for himself that’s as rich and complex
as the chocolates he makes, which is an ability I envy. At one time, Mysuru may have been a destination on his map, but with his witty charm, sartorial flair and a classic Fiat as his chariot, he appears to have become an integral part of the city’s vibrant tapestry. And did I say that he makes the best iced chocolate I’ve ever tasted?
