From 15 Kilos To 20

I miss dosas — eating them, making them, smelling them, biting my way through them, watching my joy crunch its way through them. I miss dosas and I fondly remember the time I had not one but two benne (butter) dosas in one sitting at Airlines, during my visit to Bangalore last month. That was a first for me. And that was a downright shocker. But you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do, yeah?

Before I left Bangalore and ventured to that part of my country which sells this staple at exorbitant prices, I learnt how to actually make one, minus it breaking apart in front of my own eyes and my sense of dosa-making self esteem. Of course it only just took me over 28 years to figure the process out — I think that’s a fair time frame to pick up dosa making by, right? I’m those fussy, yet not-fussy dosa eaters because my preference lies in just two types of dosas – plain dosa and butter plain dosa. Sometimes it infuriates me to be so, erm, rigid, because I end up feeling this weird half-full sensation, unsure of whether I can eat my way through dosa number 2, but still desirous of dosa number 2; which wouldn’t really be the case if I ate a masala dosa in the first place. But I fall under that category of people person who thinks dosas and potatoes are just not meant to be together. I feel very secure in this community of one person. Do you feel the same way? If yes, that makes us two — so yay!

I also came back armed with a suitcase overweight by five kilos, which I pretended was only 15 kilos. How that story at the airport went is better kept under wraps. So yes, these five extra kilos comprised masalas, masalas, masalas and filter coffee powder. One of my favourite and mandatory picks was a batch of rasam powder — enough to last me past the horribly cold winters we have, which are still months away, btw. But now that I’ve dived headlong into this rasam-making business over here, it seems highly unlikely that this rasam powder batch will last me till before winter starts. Wow. So much win.

So rasam was made this time and what an absolute thrill the entire experience was. The smells, the process, the feel of the ingredients, the anticipation, the tempestuous bubbling, the flavours, the sounds…the splutter, the gasp, the sizzle…it was worth it all. My kitchen felt like it was transported back to a Tam-Brahm’s house and I felt like I was walking down the lane of my childhood memories, filled with the sights, sounds, and smells of rasam. What a glorious moment, what a sublime experience. I’m sure to walk down that road again, and again, and again some more.

This post has turned out to be more South-Indianish and food related (I’m not surprised), than I had planned it to be. The other thing I’ve been wallowing very shamelessly in and reaping the maximum out of is, of course, my very dear mug of filter coffee. No matter how judiciously I use this, I always go back lusting for more. This current potion of magic has been the cure to not just those random mood swings, but pesky headaches that appear out of nowhere, and also works wonders on relieving stress in a jiffy. All it takes is a whiff of its earthy aroma to encase my senses and make me feel better in an instant. And I’ve been trying quite earnestly to better my hand at making my desi cuppa joe better. This is what my coffee looks like on most days, and I’m stoked at how it looks, tastes, smells and feels. All senses spellbound – check!

It looks like I’ve brought back more of Bangalore with me than I did from my previous visits. Sometimes the memories of home; its sounds, smells, experiences, treats, sights; can be debilitating in that you need some form of instant gratification to reassure your leaving and moving on, which can be hard to find in a place so different from home. But it’s at times like these when you realize that home resides as much within you, as it does anywhere else. And with that thought, I came back to NCR with more Bangalore in me than before.

Things I’m Doing Before I Leave Bangalore – I

In continuation from the end of my previous post where I highlighted (more than once) my fast approaching wedding, please do excuse me if most, if not all, my posts hereon are wedding-centric.

A little after the discovery that I could be getting married was made, it dawned upon me that I would have to leave Bangalore. If I were to rewind my story a little bit (or maybe a considerable bit) to about 3-5 years back when I actively started being open to the idea of getting married, it was also the time when the concept of having to actually move out of the comfort of my mom’s nest chanced upon me. I use the word “chance” because I’m that rather boring, unadventurous home-bird who hasn’t ever stepped out for long periods of time to flap my own wings, as it were. Except for the one time I went on an exchange program for 3 months in class 9, which doesn’t really count as a milestone in the development of a normal bell curve-fitting human being, I’ve always been at home and they were very conscious decisions of mine to do so. But somewhere along the line, a couple of years after I’d finally actually gotten done with the series of formal education Indian society deems “fit”, I’d really (finally) begun being open to the idea of leaving home. It was a thought and I’d left it at that, until talks of getting married started taking place.

And so here I am today, preparing to get married to the fiance who isn’t Bangalore-based. Because I was open to leaving home, the idea of relocating wasn’t a big deal back when I first met him. Of course, as is the case with almost everything, there’s much truth in the saying “it’s easier said than done”, which is applicable almost universally, if I may say so. So lo and behold, when I first got the hint that I would be getting married and therefore relocating in reality, it wasn’t as easy as it first seemed, I admit. It’s not that the idea of starting a new chapter in a new place with someone you’ve chosen to be with, isn’t exciting or thrilling. It’s the idea of actually stepping out of your every comfort zone that’s a different ball game altogether, especially if you’re the unadventurous (in this arena) kind.

It’s since then that I’ve been on this trail of sorts to do those things that I’ve really wanted to do in Bangalore or associate most with my home city. Of course we shouldn’t be surprised that most of them are, indeed, food-related. So after that rather long introduction, hopefully I’ll be able to document the things I’ve been doing and am trying to do before I leave Bangalore.

I first heard of this place back when I was in college. From friends to colleagues thereafter, the stories about this place never ceased to reach my ears. Of course I wasn’t as curious back then and figured I would visit this rather small and non-fancy eatery when my inclination and urgency would eventually surface. The friend who first spoke to me about it, and I, made our maiden trip together to CTR 11 years after she first told me about it. Eleven years. Talk about inclination and urgency. She’s been there countless times of course and was very kind to accompany me on my visit.

CTR isn’t really a fancy place and there isn’t even any guarantee that you’ll get a seat to sit at the moment you go there. Situated (I love this word, it sounds so travel-esque) at the corner of some cross on some main in Malleswaram, this tiny place (even after its expansion) still has more people waiting in line to eat its dosas than it can accommodate in one go. Go there for its benne dosa (butter dosa). I think it’s one of those landmark eateries Bangaloreans (and non-Bangalorean dosa lovers) have been flocking to for generations. It’s a non-fussy, in-ornate, simple place filled with people, a sizzling kitchen, crispy dosas and of course tumblers of steaming filter coffee. They do have other eats as well, but we stopped by for one each of this.

I’m guessing the provision of (ghastly) plastic plates has taken over the rusticity of perhaps serving dosas on steel or leaf plates. But then again, the sight of a pale plastic plate is soon dominated by the brilliantly crisp, shiny, crunchy butter dosa. Forget about diets and calories and fat. Munch your way through this and then thank the dosa Gods for giving you this privilege/honour. Wash it down with filter coffee and exult in the experience of finally making it to this landmark.

It is important to always say and keep in mind that expectations from classical eateries/experiences must always be made minus ideals, to avoid the obvious – disappointment. We’ve perhaps savoured nicer-tasting dosas or had better experiences at newer places and so be it. But as someone looking to explore the character and history of a place, it’s important to make room for the experience in itself. And so with that, it makes me happy to know that this was one place checked off my list. It certainly was one of the crispiest dosas I’ve crunched my way through. If I do have the chance to, I hope to crunch my way through another one before I leave.

Happiness does indeed lie in a crispy and crunchy food experience. It’s true.