When I moved to Bangalore over a decade ago, I always looked for my morning breakfasts. And, one of the reasons for that was the humble idlis. Even the initial months when I moved here, each morning, with a slight nip in the air to have steaming hot idlis was an absolute treat. I had a handful of darshinis – the open-plan canteens as they are known in this part of the world – where I preferred to gobble my idlis. Each of the darshinis had a distinct taste, and when I mean taste, I mean that of just the idlis and not the condiments and assortments that accompanied it. One might argue that what variation of taste an idli can have – especially if it belongs to one region (or rather a locality of a neighbourhood)? I too would have probably said the same if I were to not move here and experience it for myself. But it’s only a reflection of one’s ignorance and lack of attention to the subtilities in the flavour.
However though, by now, I was capable of distinguishing which darshini my idlis came from in a blind taste. Something which actually, my colleagues tested on me, and I successfully passed this Idli Pariksha!
What these humble idlis taught me was to observe with sensitivity the subtle flavours that it releases. It was more than a mere taste. Idlis have made me one with this region, idlis have got me connected with the legacy, the tradition, the culture of the place. They have offered me a sense of belongingness. As for the taste, they may be bland, but our bond is much more colourful.
What these humble idlis taught me was to observe with sensitivity the subtle flavours that it releases. It was more than a mere taste.
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