When you walk on a dimly lit road after a nearly 12-hour 'work' day, a lot of thoughts fight for attention in your head. Even if the beautiful 'Tum Saath ho..' from the film Tamasha is playing through your headphones.
Thoughts about an article read in the morning. Thoughts about Deepika Padukone. Thoughts about the people who work all night to lay new roads. Thoughts about the client feedback for the day's work that would reach the inbox the next morning. Thoughts about dinner.
Unfortunately, the last thought process almost always emerges the winner in grabbing attention. It has a loyal accomplice in the form of a grumble from the stomach which then sets in motion a recollection of all the vegetables and raw material available at the flat for cooking.
Standing with the head bowed down in respect to the induction stove, allowing the fingers to play with mustard seeds/cumin seeds/turmeric powder/chilly powder/salt and adding the wrong ingredient in the wrong proportion, letting the hand holding a ladle to exhibit a hurried hula hoop dance to ensure that the dish does not get over-fried, thinking of every possible way to make the dish eatable when it goes awfully wrong (adding sugar to an over-fried dish helps!) - Only a bachelor setting out on a 'cooking' journey can testify to the strange joy such a process provides.
Also, only the same bachelor can testify to the extremely large handful that every flatmate takes out of a dish (prepared for a single person) with the help of a very simple statement - "Chumma oru vaai taste thaane da paakren...".
If you prepare a dish for yourself in a flat with 6 other flatmates, you will be the only person really 'tasting' the dish with a small handful of it. All others would be busy burping.
Such a thought is never encouraging.
Especially when you see a bright light at the end of the dimly lit road - the light originating from a popular and good South Indian restaurant.
Finding a good South Indian restaurant in Bangalore is similar to finding an Indian engineering student who took up engineering because he/she happily wanted to.
After you step into the restaurant, it would not be your mistake if you first notice the less-in-hunger-more-in-love couples seated all across the place.
They would be seated so close to each other that you would want to snap a photograph and send it to the 'Fevicol' manufacturers asking them to add a simple tagline - Inaithidume Idhayangalai - before putting it up on a billboard.
Thoughts about an article read in the morning. Thoughts about Deepika Padukone. Thoughts about the people who work all night to lay new roads. Thoughts about the client feedback for the day's work that would reach the inbox the next morning. Thoughts about dinner.
Unfortunately, the last thought process almost always emerges the winner in grabbing attention. It has a loyal accomplice in the form of a grumble from the stomach which then sets in motion a recollection of all the vegetables and raw material available at the flat for cooking.
Standing with the head bowed down in respect to the induction stove, allowing the fingers to play with mustard seeds/cumin seeds/turmeric powder/chilly powder/salt and adding the wrong ingredient in the wrong proportion, letting the hand holding a ladle to exhibit a hurried hula hoop dance to ensure that the dish does not get over-fried, thinking of every possible way to make the dish eatable when it goes awfully wrong (adding sugar to an over-fried dish helps!) - Only a bachelor setting out on a 'cooking' journey can testify to the strange joy such a process provides.
Also, only the same bachelor can testify to the extremely large handful that every flatmate takes out of a dish (prepared for a single person) with the help of a very simple statement - "Chumma oru vaai taste thaane da paakren...".
If you prepare a dish for yourself in a flat with 6 other flatmates, you will be the only person really 'tasting' the dish with a small handful of it. All others would be busy burping.
Such a thought is never encouraging.
Especially when you see a bright light at the end of the dimly lit road - the light originating from a popular and good South Indian restaurant.
Finding a good South Indian restaurant in Bangalore is similar to finding an Indian engineering student who took up engineering because he/she happily wanted to.
After you step into the restaurant, it would not be your mistake if you first notice the less-in-hunger-more-in-love couples seated all across the place.
They would be seated so close to each other that you would want to snap a photograph and send it to the 'Fevicol' manufacturers asking them to add a simple tagline - Inaithidume Idhayangalai - before putting it up on a billboard.
But to be honest, one does not really feel bad about not being in a relationship when the stomach is creating its own symphony.
Hunger is a good companion that way.
Idly, Dosa, Pongal, Vada - For some reason, choosing between these seems very difficult in comparison to choosing between a roti and a paratha and a naan.
The Idly is as soft as a newborn's tummy. The Dosa is as thin as a butterfly's wing. The Pongal always is a little island floating in ghee. The Vada is so crispy that crunching it would wake up a corpse.
How do you choose?
It is never as easy as selecting a shirt in a textile shop.
And hence is available an option - Mini tiffin.
You get an Idly. You get a mini Dosa. You get a mini Vada. And a spoonful of Pongal that would leave even a crow hungry.
But why complain?!
Getting a cup of sambhar with these that does not contain coconut or is not sweet is in itself a blessing.
The sambhar served in the hotels of Karnataka have actually made me despise sweets.
But why go through such a word-struggle for a simple and heavenly mini tiffin?!
Well, it's not just about food. It never is.
After I finished eating, after I finished observing how one of the waiters kept looking longingly at a kaju kathli placed in the opposite counter, I washed my hands and walked out of the restaurant.
As I stepped out, I saw a girl of about 8-10 years of age walking towards the restaurant with her mother. There was a wide smile pasted over the girl's face and her face was gleaming so much that she could be mistook in a Tamil horror film for being possessed by a spirit.
Hunger is a good companion that way.
The Idly is as soft as a newborn's tummy. The Dosa is as thin as a butterfly's wing. The Pongal always is a little island floating in ghee. The Vada is so crispy that crunching it would wake up a corpse.
How do you choose?
It is never as easy as selecting a shirt in a textile shop.
And hence is available an option - Mini tiffin.
You get an Idly. You get a mini Dosa. You get a mini Vada. And a spoonful of Pongal that would leave even a crow hungry.
But why complain?!
Getting a cup of sambhar with these that does not contain coconut or is not sweet is in itself a blessing.
The sambhar served in the hotels of Karnataka have actually made me despise sweets.
Well, it's not just about food. It never is.
After I finished eating, after I finished observing how one of the waiters kept looking longingly at a kaju kathli placed in the opposite counter, I washed my hands and walked out of the restaurant.
As I stepped out, I saw a girl of about 8-10 years of age walking towards the restaurant with her mother. There was a wide smile pasted over the girl's face and her face was gleaming so much that she could be mistook in a Tamil horror film for being possessed by a spirit.
I watched the mother- daughter pair.
They stopped outside the restaurant. The daughter chuckled. The mother smiled. "Are we really eating here?!" - the daughter asked. The mother nodded. The daughter grabbed her mother's hand and swinging it wildly, she entered the restaurant.
The restaurant did not just mean food for the girl. It was a celebration.
I couldn't help remembering my jubilant march, as a kid, every time my mother took me to a restaurant.
I wondered why the celebration had departed me.
The list of reasons that popped up in my head seemed lengthier than the Quality Checklists I prepare at office.
Perhaps I needed to prepare a Quality Checklist for my life.
The little things were getting missed.
The very little things that make a life richer. The very little things so important in the grand scheme.
They stopped outside the restaurant. The daughter chuckled. The mother smiled. "Are we really eating here?!" - the daughter asked. The mother nodded. The daughter grabbed her mother's hand and swinging it wildly, she entered the restaurant.
The restaurant did not just mean food for the girl. It was a celebration.
I wondered why the celebration had departed me.
The list of reasons that popped up in my head seemed lengthier than the Quality Checklists I prepare at office.
Perhaps I needed to prepare a Quality Checklist for my life.
The little things were getting missed.
The very little things that make a life richer. The very little things so important in the grand scheme.
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