"Don't start to drool already”, I almost said aloud on my flight back to India after a short stopover at DXB when itemising on my iTouch just when the pilot put the flight on cruise and announced that it was legitimately safe to switch on the electronic gadgets as per the ATC regulations. I had listed down the TO DO things once reaching India and Dosa found its righteous place on the list and I must confess it appeared more than once on the list in varying formats ranging from Ghee to Ghee Podi with a few more variants in between. Well I couldn't really complain since I was not having nothing more than curd rice with or without pickle for a period of almost 8 months.
After a very short pit stop in my home sweet home I was again on board my flight from Chennai to Hyderabad. In no time the aircraft was on its final approach to Rajiv Gandhi International Airport and I was in the office campus trying to wade my way through a bunch of Urudu speaking Telugu people with an almost expired sodexho pass in one hand and I do not recall what I was carrying on the other hand. “One Podi hmm, nehi nehi aek butter masala dena”, the girl in front of me on the queue handed a 20 rupee note and took her coupon from the guy who was manning the counter. With the typical British accent thanks to my eight months of king's English in Britain I said “Haya, how are you today? Can I have one plain dosa please?” and placed the expiring sodexho on the counter. “Dosa kavala odha ra bhai” came the reply from the counter guy who obviously was not in a mood to appreciate my English or simply he did not understand what I said and my immediate response was “anna, oka plain dosa ivava” and the guy took just the enough time for the two girls behind me in the queue to giggle at me before giving me an yellow coupon that said Live Dosa and 15 underneath.
I walked the distance with unmistakable elegance of a best man, clasping the coupon with all five fingers and waving at people I never met like the seasoned fashion designer walking the runway with an anorexic super model. The queue stopped a couple of yards away from the counter where two guys were exhibiting nothing less than fine art in spreading fermented batter on hot plates which instantly transformed itself in to a golden jewel edible with or without a side dish. I was just praying to god that there should be enough batter in the vessel and just the enough LPG in the cylinder at least to cater the people in the queue and the engineer in me started to impact analyse the situation on how it would be if the queue algorithm changed from FIFO to LIFO since I was the last addition to the queue.
When the wait on the queue looked eternal a ray of hope just peaked for an instance when the guy standing in front of me left the queue only to join back with two more coupons. My mind volunteered to do a small bit of math with the available data – 1 dosa took around 45 seconds, 6 people ahead of me, two guys to prepare the dosa and the guy in front of me had three coupons assuming all others ordered just one it would be a total of 8 dosas meaning I had to wait for three minutes for my turn and three minutes and forty five seconds to taste the million dollar baby and it also meant the guy behind me had to wait the same time as me and that was redonkulously unfair.
As the clock ticked and the queue ahead diminished the noise from the general audience was overtaken by the sweet music of simmering dosas and exactly after three minutes of wait me and the guy behind me handed our coupons with the other guy adding an extra requirement “tel bina” and my mind wasted no time and blurted out “What a chick, dosa without oil?”
The guys at the counter wasted no time as if they had a 45s SLA and went back to the task.
With the nuance of an artiste the guys painted the batter on the tawa and the guy who took my order splashed a generous quantity of oil on my dosa and exactly after 45 seconds a crisp piece of art work as good as Prasoon Joshi's lyrics was transferred to a plate and the at next instance I was owning the masterpiece. I was holding the plate of dosa on my hand and I heard a girl calling out “Sir, sir” and I felt a hand on my shoulder “Sir”, I opened my eyes and the air hostess from some Eastern European country with a name plate 'Sophie' was pointing to the sticker in front of my seat that read 'Wake me up for food', “Break fast sir, fried tomatoes and baked beans”.She moved the trolley to the next row, perhaps she was offended when I asked “Dosa irukka?”.I was still on board flight from DXB to MAA.
After a very short pit stop in my home sweet home I was again on board my flight from Chennai to Hyderabad. In no time the aircraft was on its final approach to Rajiv Gandhi International Airport and I was in the office campus trying to wade my way through a bunch of Urudu speaking Telugu people with an almost expired sodexho pass in one hand and I do not recall what I was carrying on the other hand. “One Podi hmm, nehi nehi aek butter masala dena”, the girl in front of me on the queue handed a 20 rupee note and took her coupon from the guy who was manning the counter. With the typical British accent thanks to my eight months of king's English in Britain I said “Haya, how are you today? Can I have one plain dosa please?” and placed the expiring sodexho on the counter. “Dosa kavala odha ra bhai” came the reply from the counter guy who obviously was not in a mood to appreciate my English or simply he did not understand what I said and my immediate response was “anna, oka plain dosa ivava” and the guy took just the enough time for the two girls behind me in the queue to giggle at me before giving me an yellow coupon that said Live Dosa and 15 underneath.
I walked the distance with unmistakable elegance of a best man, clasping the coupon with all five fingers and waving at people I never met like the seasoned fashion designer walking the runway with an anorexic super model. The queue stopped a couple of yards away from the counter where two guys were exhibiting nothing less than fine art in spreading fermented batter on hot plates which instantly transformed itself in to a golden jewel edible with or without a side dish. I was just praying to god that there should be enough batter in the vessel and just the enough LPG in the cylinder at least to cater the people in the queue and the engineer in me started to impact analyse the situation on how it would be if the queue algorithm changed from FIFO to LIFO since I was the last addition to the queue.
When the wait on the queue looked eternal a ray of hope just peaked for an instance when the guy standing in front of me left the queue only to join back with two more coupons. My mind volunteered to do a small bit of math with the available data – 1 dosa took around 45 seconds, 6 people ahead of me, two guys to prepare the dosa and the guy in front of me had three coupons assuming all others ordered just one it would be a total of 8 dosas meaning I had to wait for three minutes for my turn and three minutes and forty five seconds to taste the million dollar baby and it also meant the guy behind me had to wait the same time as me and that was redonkulously unfair.
As the clock ticked and the queue ahead diminished the noise from the general audience was overtaken by the sweet music of simmering dosas and exactly after three minutes of wait me and the guy behind me handed our coupons with the other guy adding an extra requirement “tel bina” and my mind wasted no time and blurted out “What a chick, dosa without oil?”
The guys at the counter wasted no time as if they had a 45s SLA and went back to the task.
With the nuance of an artiste the guys painted the batter on the tawa and the guy who took my order splashed a generous quantity of oil on my dosa and exactly after 45 seconds a crisp piece of art work as good as Prasoon Joshi's lyrics was transferred to a plate and the at next instance I was owning the masterpiece. I was holding the plate of dosa on my hand and I heard a girl calling out “Sir, sir” and I felt a hand on my shoulder “Sir”, I opened my eyes and the air hostess from some Eastern European country with a name plate 'Sophie' was pointing to the sticker in front of my seat that read 'Wake me up for food', “Break fast sir, fried tomatoes and baked beans”.She moved the trolley to the next row, perhaps she was offended when I asked “Dosa irukka?”.I was still on board flight from DXB to MAA.
2 comments:
Good one.. I now feel like having one..
Kiran,it is fun-taste-ck.Go on a
writing spree.I look forward for
lots of such brilliant works from
your unending bowl ie is amudhasurabhi!
your dad
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