Edited By: Rishika Agarwal
Excerpt: Across generations and homes, a food dish’s journey mirrors fond memories, cherished tastes, and a thread that binds hearts. Told from the perspective of a popular food dish, we see its journey and the story of a student returning home, the anticipation of food lovingly prepared by a grandmother filling the air with warmth and nostalgia.
A steel bowl is placed on the ground, a few pieces of hay strewn around. The black lentils, bengal gram, and methi seeds skittle around as they are swiftly tossed into the bowl. Another bowl is placed next to it. This time, it is filled with raw rice. Water sloshes through the bowls, as the contents are swirled together with a ladle.
Six hours later, left to ferment overnight, the mixture became moist. In the morning, the crisp air whistled through the house as the mixture of rice and lentils was thrown into the grinder. Slowly but steadily, there appeared a smooth, frothy and bubbly batter. The water was precariously mixed in — not too much, not too less.
The batter sizzles with ghee on a hot griddle, spreading out into a thin, circular shape.
I am flipped over with a spatula, the batter sizzling, cooked until golden brown. I can hear the children running into the kitchen; it’s nearly lunchtime. Filled with a scoop of potato masala and folded over, the crisp edges crack a bit, while being served on a banana leaf.
People often resort to calling me a dosa, and while there may be different pronunciations of my name in the country I originated from and the countries I have migrated to, I think it’s safe to say that one thing that hasn’t changed: people’s love and adoration for me. Bah! You may think that I’m exaggerating, but if you hear the story of my travels and fame around the world, you’ll find yourself craving a dosa. While plenty of food historians debate whether I first originated in Tamil Nadu, or Karnataka, I might just be a bit more partial to Karnataka (you’ll see why). Specifically, Udipi, the city of billowing winds, long stretches of beaches, and cool nights (of course it has two terrible months of summer, with the sun beating down on you, but otherwise, the food and the culture make up for it).
It was a cold winter in Delhi, the capital city of India, and the dosa was a relief against the harsh cold. I was about six years old when I first tasted it. I belonged to a South Indian family, so it would be quite natural for me to have eaten this dish since the early days.
What started in homes, spread to temples, street-side inns for weary travelers, and restaurants like MTR (Mavalli Tiffin Room), Vidhyarthi Bhavan, A2B and many more places. After independence, I decided to migrate to the north, Delhi in particular, where I was served with much pomp at Madras Hotel, Connaught Place. Gradually, as people caught wind of tales of my deliciousness and eat-and-repeatability, my siblings and I spread across India, like a tiny plant growing into a tree, with our branches spreading out wide. Sure enough, as I spread to different regions of India, people had their own take on me. Cheese dosa, schezwan dosa, chocolate dosa, chicken-filled dosa, even!
But truth be told, I was a finicky kid, and much like Sam-I-Am in ‘Green Eggs and Ham’, I very much resisted eating this dish. Finally, relenting to the incessant requests of my grandmother, I ate the dosa. I remember the first time I tasted the circular-looking thing. I tore off a piece and dipped it into the ketchup, the edges crunching in my mouth. I took another piece, dipped into the tangy and spicy sambar, and I knew I had found my purpose in life. Of course, many of you, including my mum, would say I’m a bit too obsessed with dosa, but it truly is the dish that I associate with home, served to friends of mine when they drop by, and eat like there’s no tomorrow.
While I was well-loved by all, one child in particular caught my attention. She refused to eat me, time and again, until one day she did. Oh! How she loved it! I’ve seen her rushing back from school, always at 4:30 p.m., begging her grandmother to make her dosa. I’ve seen how she refused to eat the chutneys, preferring to take a side of ketchup. Controversial, I know. I’ve seen how she eventually moved to Karnataka, my home, my place of birth, and had the authentic experience at Vidyarthi Bhavan, bustling with people, waiting in lines up to 45 minutes. And perhaps the best redemption arc was when she paired me with sambar! I’ve been with her all the way, for 11 years, until it was time for her to move away for university. And, of course, considering my far-reaching fame, she’ll be able to eat me anywhere she goes, but it’ll be her grandmothers that she’ll miss the most.
As I stepped into my last week at home before leaving for university, my grandmother called me and asked what I would like as a parting dish to celebrate my new stage of life. If you haven’t guessed it yet, it was dosa.
Dear Grandmother,
How are you? I’m doing fine, the pressure of the mid-terms has just ended, and oh, the professors have already started announcing essay guidelines for the finals! To keep it short and sweet, I’ll be home for the winter holidays. I can’t wait to eat some home-cooked meals! Well, the mess food isn’t bad here, but your food always takes the cake! Counting down the days until I fly back home!
Much love,
XOXO
S
Dear S,
I’m doing very well, thank you. I hope you did well in your midterms. Life seems to have quieted down without you here. I can’t wait to have you back and cook some dosas for you!
Hugs and Dosas,
XOXO
G
Dear S,
I know you’re coming back home for the winter holidays. I can’t wait to see your cheerful face and listen to all your stories from university! Everyone awaits you!
Warmth and Crispiness,
XOXO
Dosa