These Are The Top 10 Happiest Cities In The World, As Per Happy City Index Report 2025
Also Read: 6 Countries With The Best Public Transportation Systems
Here is the list of the top 10 happiest cities in the world for 2025:
1. Copenhagen, Denmark
Ranked as the happiest city in the world, Copenhagen "seamlessly blends history, modernity, and sustainability," stated the index. Denmark's capital received great points for emphasising education and innovation. Furthermore, the city prioritises work-life balance, with an average work week of only 37 hours. The city also provides a plethora of eco-friendly transportation, clean air and plenty of green spaces.
2. Zurich, Switzerland
Zurich comes in second on the list. The city is renowned for its superb public services, robust economy, and tranquil atmosphere. "The city is one of the wealthiest urban centres in the world, with average earnings that are 75 per cent higher than the national average," the report said. "Zurich maintains one of the safest road networks, with a traffic-related fatality rate of just 0.07 per 10,000 residents," it further added.
3. Singapore
Singapore secured the third position in the list. With 0.62 parks per square kilometre and a high percentage of sustainable transit alternatives, the city places a high priority on the environment. Singapore's life expectancy is 83 years, and 15% of adults receive integrated mental care.
4. Aarhus, Denmark
Due in great part to its emphasis on health and education, Aarhus, the second-largest city in Denmark, is ranked fourth on the list. There are 4.4 doctors per 1,000 residents, and all residents have health insurance. People here have generally healthy lives, with a balanced 37-hour workday and an 81.3-year life expectancy.
5. Antwerp, Belgium
Antwerp is next in the list. Perched on the banks of the Scheldt River, the city has received top marks for transportation, healthcare, and education. 82 years is the average lifespan, seven per cent of the population pursues lifelong learning, and twenty-eight per cent have a master's degree.
6. Seoul, South Korea
A vibrant city renowned for its fusion of modernity and culture, Seoul comes in sixth on the list. The city has state-of-the-art infrastructure and technology in addition to a rich cultural legacy. An effective public transportation system and emphasis on education contribute to a high quality of life.
7. Stockholm, Sweden
Stockholm is popular for its beautiful archipelago and dedication to sustainability. With first-rate public services and a robust social welfare system, the city provides a high standard of living. A healthy lifestyle is encouraged by the city's emphasis on green areas and outdoor activities.
8. Taipei, Taiwan
Known for its technical innovations and inventiveness, Taipei offers its citizens a wide range of opportunities. A high standard of living is supported by its state-of-the-art infrastructure and effective public services. Numerous internationally recognised colleges and educational establishments may be found in Taipei, drawing students from all over the world.
9. Munich, Germany
Munich offers a range of public amenities and services to its citizens that contribute to a high standard of living. The city's robust economy is fueled by a variety of industries, including industrial, banking, and technology. Residents benefit from a wealth of employment possibilities and economic success brought about by the presence of many global corporate headquarters.
10. Rotterdam, Netherlands
Rotterdam is known for its vibrant cultural scene and contemporary architecture. The city provides a wide range of public amenities and services that help its citizens live well. Additionally, Rotterdam aggressively works to encourage the use of renewable energy sources and lower carbon emissions.
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India.com
10 hours ago
- India.com
5 Soul-Stirring Beaches In Tamil Nadu That Look Like They're from A Dream Sequence
Tamil Nadu is not always about temple bells and filter coffee. Sometimes, it is the sound of waves that hum the oldest lullabies. Sometimes, it is the coast—not the corridors of shrines—that carries the soul of the land. Where the land leans into the sea, Tamil Nadu's beaches emerge—unhurried, sun-drenched, and full of forgotten stories. These aren't the tourist traps or the checklist beaches. These are quiet retreats. Places where the ocean doesn't roar—it breathes. Let's leave behind the city's rhythm and step barefoot into five beaches that offer a different kind of escape. Not dramatic. But deeply stirring. 1. Serenity Beach – Pondicherry's Whispering Escape Not all beaches shout with crowds and chaos. Some murmur. Some simply exist for the early risers, the surfers, and the lovers of silence. Serenity Beach lies just outside the bustling streets of White Town, where bougainvillaea spills over French balconies. But here, everything slows. Fishermen mend nets. Foam trails swirl on the shore. And the sea looks like it's forgotten how to be angry. Perfect for morning meditations, writing journals, or watching waves kiss rocks, again and again. Even the wind here seems to tiptoe. It's called Serenity for a reason. 2. Dhanushkodi – Where India Ends and Legends Begin Dhanushkodi isn't just a beach. It's the end of a story. Or the start of one. Located at the very tip of Rameswaram, this ghost town sits where the Bay of Bengal meets the Indian Ocean. Abandoned after a cyclone decades ago, Dhanushkodi is all sand, silence, and salt, But it is stunning. The road to Dhanushkodi stretches like a ribbon between two seas. On either side, turquoise waters flirt with silver sands. The ruins of an old church whisper forgotten prayers. And sometimes, if you listen hard, the wind carries myths—from Ramayana, from the sea, from the stars. There are no coconut stalls here. No water sports. Just the feeling of standing at the edge of something timeless. 3. Tharangambadi – The Danish Secret on Tamil Coast You don't expect to find a castle by the sea in Tamil Nadu. And yet, in Tharangambadi, also called Tranquebar, you do. A small Danish fort, ancient churches, and colonial houses dot this sleepy beach town. But the real magic? It's the beach. Wide. Windy. With waves that seem to have rhythm but no rush. Tharangambadi is where history leans into the sea. Walk by the fort at sunset, and you'll feel the echoes of another world. The kind where sailors once looked out for whales. The kind where traders brought stories, not just goods. It's a place to read old novels. To take long walks. To watch horizons instead of notifications. Because here, nothing hurries. Not the waves. Not time. 4. Auroville Beach – Of Golden Glows and Gentle Souls Just outside the spiritual town of Auroville lies a stretch of beach that feels both local and magical. Auroville Beach is where community meets coast. Expect everything here to feel simple, grounded, and glowing. Mornings bring yoga groups and lone walkers. Afternoons see children building impossible sandcastles. And by dusk, the sun dips into the water like it's returning home. No big resorts. Just coconut trees. A few food shacks. And plenty of time to do absolutely nothing. What makes Auroville Beach special isn't what you can do—it's what you don't need to. You don't need to impress. Or perform. You just arrive. And belong. 5. Kovalam Beach – The Lesser-Known Cousin With a Golden Glow Not to be confused with its namesake in Kerala, Tamil Nadu's Kovalam Beach lies close to Chennai yet remains a secret to most. Hidden away from the buzz, this stretch of coast offers golden sands, gentle tides, and the occasional boat drifting in or out. Come here for early morning stillness or a soft evening breeze. Come here to collect seashells. Or thoughts. While others crowd Marina or Mahabalipuram, Kovalam sits quiet, like a page in a well-loved book. The kind you return to when the world feels loud. There's a lighthouse nearby too—casting light not just over waters, but over memories. Why These Beaches Matter Beyond Beauty It's easy to fall in love with the sea. It's harder to respect it. These beaches teach both. They don't scream for attention. They invite it gently. They remind us that escape doesn't always mean adventure. Sometimes, it means peace. Sometimes, it means just listening—to tides, to winds, to ourselves. And while the world races to Goa or Bali, these corners of Tamil Nadu remain untouched. Unbranded. And utterly unforgettable. Visiting them helps local fishermen. Small chai stalls. Homestays that depend not on tour buses, but on travelers who feel, not just click. You don't need a drone here. Or a GoPro. Just a little time. And a heart willing to pause. Soulful Tips to Soak It All In -Go early. Sunrises here feel personal. -Respect silence. These aren't party beaches. They're poetry. -Carry your own water. Many spots remain raw and uncommercial. -Support local vendors. That fresh coconut juice means more than you think. -Don't chase photos. Let the moments find you. Final Thought Tamil Nadu's beaches don't shout. They whisper. And in a world that never stops talking, sometimes a whisper is all we need. So, leave behind the guidebooks and Insta reels. Find your way to one of these coastal gems. Let your feet sink into warm sand. Let your breath match the rhythm of the sea. And maybe, just maybe, you'll hear a story the waves have been waiting to tell only you. Not a story for likes. But for life.
Mint
3 days ago
- Mint
Civilisation is always in the eye of the beholder
At lunch they forgot the cutlery. To be fair, my partner Bishan and I had arrived after normal lunch hours. But the gracious hotel, housed in a beautifully restored 17th century colonial building in Tharangambadi, a former Danish colony on the coast of Tamil Nadu, assured us that was not a problem. We sat on the veranda, next to trees laden with pink and white magnolias, while dragonflies swooped around us, waiting for our fish kozhambu (curry) and banana leaf biryani. The food arrived but without plates. When we pointed that out, a flustered waiter ran off to get plates. Later Bishan realised we had no cutlery either. By then the wait staff had vanished as well. 'It's okay," I said. 'We'll just eat with our hands anyway." I don't know what the ghosts of dead Danes surrounding us in Tharangambadi, or Tranquebar as the Danes called it, would have made of our table manners. But eating with your fingers in the age of Zohran Mamdani felt like an assertion of post-colonial cultural pride. After a video surfaced of Mamdani, the man who wants to be New York's next mayor, eating biryani with his fingers, Texan Congressman Brandon Gill said 'civilised people in America don't eat like this. If you refuse to adopt Western customs, go back to the Third World." His Indian-origin wife Danielle D'Souza Gill insisted that even she never grew up eating rice with her hands. Civilisation was very much on my mind as we wandered around Tranquebar. This was where the Bartholomäus Ziegenbalg and Heinrich Plütschau landed in July 1706, the first Protestant missionaries in India. Their patron was Frederick IV, king of Denmark. Ziegenbalg brought not just Lutheranism but also a printing press. He printed the Bible in Tamil but at the house where he lived, it says the first book printed in Tamil was Abominable Heathenism in 1713. Missionary zeal was about the word of God but it also was always about civilising the abominable heathens. Ziegenbalg with his long curly golden hair, is all over the Danish quarter, his name as ubiquitous as Nehru's. Ziegenbalg Printing Press. The Ziegenbalg Museum of Intercultural Dialogue. The Ziegenbalg Home for Boys. A big street sign proclaims him as a man of many firsts. The first Protestant missionary to India. The first to bring the printing press to India. The first to print the New Testament in Tamil. The first to introduce the free noon meal scheme and a school for girls. The list goes on for some 24 painstakingly compiled items. What it does not mention is why he made the arduous eight-month sea voyage to India despite ill health. It was because his mentor August Hermann Francke, professor of divinity at the University of Halle in Saxony, proposed he kindle the holy spark in 'the heathen at Tranquebar". At the Zion Church in Tranquebar, a sign on the wall commemorates his first five converts, baptised in 1707. In India, history books always open with the Indus Valley Civilisation. That's roughly 3300-1300 BCE. Since then many other civilisations rose and fell up and down the Indian subcontinent. Yet missionaries still felt they needed to show Indians the light. Tranquebar feels haunted by the ghosts of that exercise in civilisation. It's a picture-postcard village—golden beach, blue waters of the Bay of Bengal and the houses of the long- departed Danes blindingly white in the hot sun. Many of the houses are being carefully restored. They bear plaques from INTACH (Indian National Trust for Art and Cultural Heritage) and the foundations in Denmark. But they are mostly shuttered as if unsure of their purpose in the afterlife. The Commander's House has become a Maritime museum but it's half-hearted. One shelf in the display cabinet has a heap of old cameras. Another has 'coat buttons from old period". Yet another has a junk store's worth of old-school typewriters. Someone put up a display shelf of empty bottles of alcohol—not Danish spirits but more mundane entries like Captain Morgan's Spiced Rum and Johnnie Walker sitting next to little murtis of gods like Krishna. One room has more evidence of the 'civilising" mission of colonialism—black and white photographs of the short-lived Danish attempt to colonise the Nicobar islands. The exercise went nowhere. Most of the colonists died from 'Nicobar fever", most likely malaria, and eventually the whole project was abandoned. The only vestige of civilisation left? In one photograph of the Shompen tribe, the men all discreetly hide their genitals with their hands, so as not to offend the sensibilities of more civilised viewers. The museum sells tiny bottles filled with blue-and-white pieces of Danish pottery to tourists. For ₹300 you can take home the broken shards of civilisation. In his book Gods, Guns and Missionaries: The Making of Modern Hindu Identity, Lounge columnist Manu Pillai recounts many fascinating stories of this clash of civilisations as devout missionaries came upon this teeming country of heathens. Missionaries only had one way to access god, which was through the Bible, says Pillai. So anything that was not god had to be Satan. Pillai writes that it's likely they turned a temple to the Devi in Calicut into the 'Devil of Calicut" because as he says, 'people come with their own cultural filters and apply that to an unfamiliar culture to make sense of that culture." Even those who went native, like Robert de Nobili who called himself an Italian Brahmin and dressed like a sanyasi or Ziegenbalg who translated German hymns into Tamil, were convinced of their superior civilising power. They just felt dressing it up in Hindu clothes would help them sell it better to the Indian masses they wanted to convert. Over time that civilising mission entered deep into the Indian DNA as well. It's easy to bristle at Brandon Gill. How dare the country that exported the KFC slogan 'finger lickin' good" now call eating with fingers uncivilised? Commentators rightly called out racism with some remembering how French filmmaker Francois Truffaut sneered he didn't want to see 'a movie of peasants eating with their hands" after watching Satyajit Ray's Pather Panchali, which opens with just such a scene. Former parliamentarian Jawahar Sircar pointed out in the Indian Express recently that forks were actually unknown to the West till a Byzantine princess brought them to Venice in the medieval period. The Church at that time saw it as decadent, not in accordance with Christian values because it wasn't essential to life, rather something brought by 'a seductress of the East." Yet many of the members of Kolkata's plummy gentlemen's clubs, civilised by a couple of centuries of exposure to colonial manners, would not be unsympathetic to Brandon Gill. The rules of many of the clubs remain starchily archaic. Civilisation becomes not so much about refinement as it is about aping the manners of the colonial masters. And there are plenty of brown sahibs around to ensure old rules live on. But in Tranquebar, the long-departed Danes seem to have left nothing behind other than empty buildings. The Danish fort, once the second largest in the world, is now just a place where Indians take selfies next to the cannons without much regard to its history. A vendor sells fried fish outside, to be eaten with fingers. Whatever civilisation the Danes intended feels like a whitewashed facade of an empty building. But then civilisation is always in the eye of the beholder. No one has a monopoly on it. On that same trip, as we had a beer at a small dark bar in Trichy, the waiter kept bringing us little plates of munchies—chickpeas, chilli chicken, slices of boiled eggs, Fryums, idli chunks with podi, wedges of watermelon. 'So much food!" we cried in alarm. 'But it's complimentary," the waiter protested. 'You must have some chakna with your drink." Used as we were too one measly bowl of salted peanuts with our drinks, whether in Kolkata or in New York, we stared at the veritable picnic spread before us in amazement. Even more surprisingly, I found out later, in Tamil slang chakna is called 'touchings", literally food to be eaten with your fingers. It all felt, dare I say it, so very civilised. Cult Friction is a fortnightly column on issues we keep rubbing up against. Sandip Roy is a writer, journalist and radio host. He posts @sandipr.
Hindustan Times
3 days ago
- Hindustan Times
Wild gourmet: India's most luxe meals, from its farthest locations
Those who profess a love for food like to brag about the lengths they'll go to for a memorable meal. That little 12-seater Mumbai restaurant everyone's been trying to get into for months. That chic Indian-Japanese place in Delhi that will be the next big thing. The Michelin-level pop-up in Bengaluru that cost ₹60,000 a seat. The secret offal menu that only in-the-know diners get at that bistro in Goa… Palaash serves a bush dinner right in the middle of a luxury retreat bordering Tipeshwar Wildlife Sanctuary. Some lengths are literal. Indian diners have been travelling to far-flung locations, sometimes making an overnight trip, just to have a good meal. Naar, Prateek Sadhu's award-winning restaurant in Kasauli, 60km from Chandigarh, is probably the best known. But little gems are thriving as far away as Arunachal Pradesh and the India-Pakistan border. They're a world away from the rushed, trendy kitchens of the big city. And they're uniquely challenging to run. Here's where to book your next food pilgrimage. Damu's Heritage Dine in the Chug Valley spotlights the food of the Monpa people. (PRIANKO BISWAS) Damu's Heritage DineChug Valley, Arunachal PradeshNearest city: Itanagar, 317km away ₹1,500 for an eight-course meal Public transportation isn't easy to come by in Arunachal Pradesh. But a taxi from Dirang town, eight kilometres away, will bring you to a village of mud and stone settlements in the lush Chug Valley. At Damu's, set amid paddy and corn fields, there's only one thing on the menu: An eight-course meal, spotlighting the food of the Monpa, a community from the state's Tawang and West Kameng districts. Look out for phurshing gombu. The charcoal-roasted ragi or cornflour tartlet, infused with yak butter and a kind of resin, is epic. The ingredient is made using highly allergic sap from the Chinese lacquer tree. Only one man in the village is skilled in extracting it without breaking into hives. How's that for a rare treat? Damu's, just about a year old, seats 12, and operates out of a century-old home. It's helmed by eight Monpa women, who manage restaurant work alongside their domestic responsibilities. On the menu are shya marku (yak meat with butter and ginger), baksa marku (a sweetened pasta), rakshi (a heady spirit served with yak ghee), buckwheat tacos and orange millet cakes. It's all local, sustainable, and foraged just before the guests arrive. Damu's dishes are all local, sustainable, and foraged just before the guests arrive. (TASHDIQUE AHMED) Damu's only takes bookings a day in advance, so the women can set aside time for it all. It's booked all through the tourist season, October to April. They've fed visitors from India's metros, as well as guests from as far away as Mexico, Japan, and Malaysia. There's no marketing budget. The place relies on social-media shares and word-of-mouth recommendations. Still, Nishant Sinha, coordinator of community-based tourism for WWF-India, says they often have to turn walk-in diners away because the kitchen hadn't accounted for them. 'It's a challenge,' he admits. 'But we wish to cater to those who value such an elaborate and intricate experience.' Few Monpa women have travelled outside their state. Most don't speak English (they do speak Hindi), so Leiki Chomu, the restaurant's manager, steps in with international guests. But the crew take naturally to hospitality and management. They handle the finances too, splitting revenues to reinvest in the business and support WWF-India's Community Conserved Areas initiative, which helps local communities benefit through heritage conservation. Last year, they contributed ₹40,000. The women started out with the aim of making ₹500 a day, without having to do backbreaking work. How are they faring? Damu's made ₹1.6 lakh last month. 'The best part is that June is generally off season for tourism in Arunachal Pradesh.' The Balti Farm in Ladakh seats 12 for lunch. Seats are booked a day in advance. (THE BALTI FARM) The Balti Farm at Virsa BaltistanTurtuk, LadakhNearest city: Leh, 205km away ₹4,000 for a seven-course meal Not much happens in Turtuk. The hamlet, nestled in an alpine valley between the Himalayas and the Karakoram, is one of the last pitstops this side of the India-Pakistan border. It's one of four Balti villages in India and only became part of our map in 1971. When it's not outright icy, it's chilly. It's so remote that hiring hospitality professionals is nearly impossible. So, at the boutique hotel Virsa Baltistan, a former driver is now a barista, an erstwhile mechanic is a steward, a onetime clerk handles the operations. 'They may be unfamiliar with luxury, but they respect the place and are honest and loyal,' says the hotel's owner Rashidullah Khan. And they're not short on ambition. Khan's hotel serves everything, from sushi to fancy coffee. At Balti Farm, the multi-course menu includes local specialties such as kisirnagrang-thur (buckwheat pancakes in herbed curd), praku (thumb-pinched pasta in a walnut sauce) and phading (apricots cooked with basil leaves). Local women prepare it all. 'They have their own household responsibilities and leave for namaaz in the evenings, so we only open for the afternoon meal,' Khan says. The restaurant serves everything, from sushi to local specialties. (THE BALTI FARM) Lunch seats 12. Seats are booked a day in advance. The trappings – small portions, fancy presentation, courses one after the other – puzzle the women. 'They joke with me, saying that food needs to be chewed like an animal and eaten with your hands. They think I am stingy and should serve the guests more generously.' Guests, however, don't seem to mind. The Balti Farm experience has been popular since it was launched in 2018. And Khan plans carefully, building the shopping list a month in advance and sourcing his Japanese ingredients from a specific store in Delhi. 'If the fish supply is impacted, we substitute it with fresh river fish. When avocadoes were not available for the sushi, we made it with apricot.' And in the snowy off-season, Khan travels to restaurants across India, to ensure that dining standards match up back home. A plant-based menu with indigenous herbs and rare flowers is coming soon. Meanwhile, Khan is keen to revive one aspect of Turtuk's Silk Route history: The barter system. 'Perhaps we can work with suppliers to trade apricots from here for coffee beans from Chikmagalur?' Amninder Sandhu with the all-women team of Palaash. They source ingredients from their own garden. PalaashTipai, MaharashtraNearest city: Nagpur, 180km away ₹4,500 for a seven-course meal From 2010 to 2017, Amninder Sandhu ran a bustling restaurant in her hometown of Jorhat, Assam, on the banks of the Brahmaputra. But Jorhat felt too small for her ambition. So, in October 2023, she set up Palaash, right in the middle of a luxury retreat bordering Tipeshwar Wildlife Sanctuary, serving a bush dinner for 12 in a grove so quiet, you can hear nocturnal animals take over the forest as the evening gives way to night. Palaash serves food from Maharashtra, Madhya Pradesh and Andhra Pradesh. But it is two-and-a-half hours away from the nearest bazaar. So, the all-women team sources ingredients from the restaurant's garden and neighbouring farms, and cooks everything gas-free – on chulhas, sigris, a tandoor, a robata grill, and a 'cool underground pit' for meats. Diners from as far away as Assam and the US have booked seats to try the raan in a jowar bhakri tortilla and laal thecha, and the ambaadi chaat (a sweet and tangy pineapple granita, topped with dahi and a crisp ambadi leaf, tamarind pearls and ambadi bud dust). Everything is cooked on chulhas, sigris, a tandoor, or an underground pit. Working away from the buzz, and with women who haven't seen a commercial kitchen, has been an adventure, Sandhu says. 'The women were shy and didn't think the food they made was significant.' She had to teach them prep and plating techniques. 'Vocabulary I took for granted – whisk, offset spatula, chopping board – was unfamiliar to them,' she recalls. Where they scored was their comfort with local fuels, and their consistency borne from experience. Sandhu saw them make perfectly uniform, round rotis, an undervalued skill in modern cooking. The region poses challenges. 'It's arid. You can't go foraging, like in the hills, and find 10 ingredients,' Sandhu says. So, courses are tweaked depending on the season. Diners in winter get the indrayani rice steamed in turmeric leaves. In the summer, the rice is wrapped in pumpkin leaves. The women have figured out their operations over two years. 'I travel in once a week or once a month,' Sandhu says. 'It is these women that run Palaash. I've never heard any negative customer feedback.' Paeru at Mharo Khet is located on a 40-acre farm. Paeru at Mharo KhetManaklao, RajasthanNearest city: Jodhpur, 25km away ₹4,500 for nine courses The tomato tartar on the menu is subtitled simply: Strawberry, chamomile, nasturtium. Don't expect a salad. What emerges from the kitchen is a cold soup made through a three-day anaerobic fermentation process, in which bacteria from the tomatoes reacts with sugar in the strawberries. 'I am certain that most diners do not realise the in-depth science and effort behind making this,' says Rajnush Agarwal, who runs Mharo Khet, the 40-acre farm at the edge of the Thar desert, that serves the unusual dish. Mharo Khet started out as a fresh-produce delivery service in 2020. Now, it has 10 luxury cottages, does tours and serves a sold-out lunch and dinner service called Paeru. It ticks all the boxes for fussy diners. It's plant-forward, it's set in a guava orchard, it's a blind menu (guests don't know what's being served until they're at the table). There might be jowar tostadas one day; a beetroot ceviche with goat cheese, another. Descriptions are rarely literal. Rajasthan's familiar pyaaz ki kachori is served as a shortcrust tartlet, with tempered potatoes, onion jam and a jalapeño thecha. 'Our visitors appreciate the innovative reimagining of traditional dishes,' Agarwal says. Rajasthan's pyaaz ki kachori is served as a shortcrust tartlet, with tempered potatoes and onion jam. Behind the scenes, everyone's been learning. Locals are taught that less is more while plating a multi-course meal, that texture matters as much as flavour, that it's possible to go overboard on the edible-flower garnishes. And in a dry region, every harvest calls for quick math. 'If there are 20 diners and only 14 pieces of baby corn in the day's yield, that dish must be changed,' Agarwal says. In the first few years, the kitchen simply worked by candlelight when the power would go out. Now, there's a back-up generator. Some city diners still drop in with special requests at the last minute. 'It took time for people to understand that a specialty, multi-course dining establishment is different from a typical F&B outlet.' From HT Brunch, July 19, 2025 Follow us on
