Random Forays | Idli sambhar in the hills
The levels of delight that one feels as soon as some spicy sambhar accompanied by idlis, vadas, uttapams or dosas, makes its way into one’s mouth, can seldom be matched.
The uniqueness of any object, person or deed depends a whole lot on the circumstances in which these are presented. If a snowman should emerge from nowhere on a hot sunny afternoon in New Delhi, passers-by would probably gape at him, askance, even if his layers of whiteness would melt within minutes, before their very eyes.
Someone who’s munching at a bagel or a pretzel in New York might not raise any eyebrows, but if the same individual were to gorge on gol gappas in mid street, even busy New Yorkers might take notice. And even though the world has evened out a great deal, despite the parochial tendencies of present day ‘world leaders’, something largely unfamiliar to the locals is bound to create more than a ripple of interest.
Parathas, those delicious flaky stuffed savoury pancakes, to use an inadequate description, are usually the staple diet of north Indians and go well with cooler climes. Searing summers are no bar for such sumptuous breakfast delights, but on a wintery morning, they are the kings of the table. Idlis and sambhar on the other hand, again the hotter the better, typically find themselves ending up in the satiated middles of Indians who reside in the southern states.
But, as we all know, idlis, parathas, noodles, pizzas, and other such human favourites, are no longer the exclusive domains of certain territories in our world. Happily, one can find them all over the place, everywhere, and nowadays, at any time.
Yet, to be treated to authentic, soft, perfect, idlis ready to be dipped in the most tantalising of sambhars, while vacationing in the hills, is a matter of sheer bliss. The most appropriate, reasonably healthy, delicious and satisfying breakfast is one that is offered with generous helpings of this delicacy. And when one is able to discover that a north Indian chef, or perhaps a migrant south Indian expert, has prepared them to perfection, high up in the mountains, one’s eyes widen, one’s taste buds dance uninhibitedly and one’s mind begins to sing.
So intense is this author’s love for the southern style of breakfast, complete with a large tumbler of the strongest filter coffee, that one starts to actually pray for idlis when only parathas, aaloo puri and poha et al have been on the menu for a few days.
And, for some divine reason, in unlikely places like Ranikhet, Dwarahat, Solan and Mussoorie, one’s prayers have been answered emphatically, over the years. Not that the other sorts of breakfast foods have no appeal for me. Breakfast is when one is at one’s hungriest, and all kinds of savoury items are very welcome. But the levels of delight that one feels as soon as some spicy sambhar accompanied by idlis, vadas, uttapams or dosas, makes its way into one’s mouth, can seldom be matched.
The fact about eating idlis in the hills is that this act also turns one into a philosopher. One begins to ponder over globalisation, progress, egalitarianism and the relentless march of humanity! Food for thought takes on a whole new meaning in such circumstances.
The situation is then rather akin to a soulful rendition of raag darbari by a renowned exponent in the backdrop of the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco. The said raag would surely have an exponentially different impact on keen listeners in such unfamiliar locales. A Scottish bagpiper band complete with kilts et al would find similarly agog listeners and viewers in Sangrur or Kottayam, for example.
Contextualising any aspect of human life is a valid exercise for the mind. There are flavours, fonts and odours which are essentially innate to a particular region and they simply wouldn’t present the same nuanced depth anywhere else. But today’s technology embellished, jet setting young professional has access to pretty much the whole world literally in his or her lap. No vista of human endeavour is out of bounds to such a globetrotter.
Yet, and I am perhaps contradicting myself, there is something about sipping kahva in the mountains and filter coffee in Chennai that brings about even more embalmment to the soul.
I guess the answer lies in each person’s heart. He alone knows what really makes him tick.
vivek.atray@gmail.com
