Humour: No more idlis!

 

Sometimes, when dreams come true, it can be more than you bargained for.

When I am in the northern regions of the country, I dream of idlis. I dream of tucking

into a heaped plate of the white stuff with side accompaniments of tamarind chutney, coconut chutney, sambar, or a chutney made from onions, red chillis and urad dal. All of it washed down by cup after cup of steaming filter coffee, of course.

Now, don’t dismiss me as an idle dreamer. Since I couldn’t get myself to any MTR or Shanti Sagar outlets,  I attempted to make idlis. I made the attempt  many times. In succession, I turned out idlis that had all the consistency of boulders, gritty cement paste and partially cooked momos.

You could use my idlis as putty, as glue softened with water, even as door stoppers. The thing was, you just couldn’t eat them.

And so I dreamed of idlis.

Soon enough, the holidays rolled around and it was time to head south again. We were to make a stop in the Nilgiris to see our daughter at a residential school there, before coming down to Bangalore.

Happily, I was soon sitting down to a plateful of steaming soft idlis accompanied by spicy chutney, up in the Blue Mountains. I inhaled the aroma just like a wine connoisseur before tucking in at a speed and rate  that made all at the table blink.

Then, we were at a friend’s place for lunch and she announced, “I know just how fond you are of idlis, so that is what we are having, okay? With meat curry and sambar.”

Hurrah, I said with enthusiasm and prepared to tuck in. All was well with the world yet.

Night dawned full of stars the size of moon rocks and a chill wind blowing in the valley. We were at another friend’s place and after much merriment  and voluble catching up, it was time to go in for dinner.

“Guys,” announced  our hostess, “ it`s your favourite for dinner: idlis with avare curry.” I managed  a heroic smile. I also managed to eat as many as six of those delicious idlis.

It soon hit home that that our guest house had a fixed menu for breakfast.  You guessed it, idlis. Added to that, many a day we grabbed a meal on  the run and since our favourite eatery did the dish well, lunch often became  idlis, too.

Soon, we were dreading dinners at friends’ houses since almost all of them believed us to be severely idli-starved and served us just that.

This really was too much of a good thing.

Soon, we were heading back to Bangalore, a voluminous package of idlis and chutney wrapped in banana leaf on the backseat of the car. There were a couple of road blocks en route which delayed us considerably and had us  pulling over for lunch closer to 4 pm.

No meals to be had, announced the Udupi hotel waiter: only idlis. So, idlis it was.

We pulled in at our house in Bangalore at dusk. All through the welcomingcup of tea, a thought lay heavy on my mind. “What,” I asked my mother,“is for dinner tonight?”

“Oh,” she replied cheerfully, “The maid’s taken ill so I did the easy thing: I made idlis with onion chutney.” In response to my mother’s shocked look at my howl of anguish, my husband said, “She’s very happy. You know just how much she loves idlis.”

I just don’t dream of idlis anymore.

This ran in the DECCAN HERALD of 21 January  2004.