OF FOOD, FOOD IN BENGALURU AND FOOD AT ADIGAS (IN THAT ORDER)

I am a good eater. Not of the monstrous quantities type, but of the loving food type. I moan when I eat good rasagullas, smack my lips after a good pizza, and thank god for every wallop of butter he sends my way. I am the sort who would try every dish in a buffet (only in moderate quantities, if I may add), except those with revolting kathirika in it. Hell, I even try out kozha kozha vendaka, which my settu friends style-ly call bhindi, like it’s the coolest thing around. And now, I have the dubious distinction of having tried out EVERY single item on Adigas’ menu in the four days I spent at Bengaluru, for breakfast, lunch or dinner.

 

Any self respecting, authentic Madrasi would have relatives in Bengaluru. Somehow, being as authentic and self respecting as it gets, I’ve been to Bengaluru probably 7 times in my entire life, staying at Appa’s cousin’s place each time. But now, thank god – no one will cast aspersions on my Madras-ness anymore – Appa started work at Bengaluru a couple of months back. My cousin moved there a few months back too. So this trip was going to be different, you know, not just a polite staying-over at a relative’s, careful not to step on anyone’s toes. Naturally, I was excited, considering that a whole load of close relatives were also going to be there then. So, a few weeks back, when my Bengaluru friends were talking of eatouts there, I asked them to recommend some places for me to drag my folks to. And what I got was: “You are vegetarian no? Just please yourself with Sukh Sagar and Shanti Sagar.” That did not please me. I had vague memories of eating idlis for breakfast at Shanti Sagar years back. And the idlis by themselves were not memorable. Suddenly, I wasn’t excited about going to Bengaluru anymore.

 

 

But Appa took me to Adigas for dinner on my first day there. Appa’s excitement was not merely palpable like it usually is; it was extraordinarily vocal for a quiet man like him. Appa, the simple soul that he is, always regards expensive food with a certain degree of wariness, and always manages to find some fault with the service, the ambience or the napkin colour. But he completely trusted inexpensive food in clean surroundings, and he had pledged his allegiance to Adigas. And I pledged my allegiance to Appa. I was looking forward to it.

 

Oh. My. God. Everything was right about it: the taste, the hot metal of the spoons, the non-fussy presentation, the little chunk of melting butter on my ho dosa, the happy faces, the bustling interiors, Appa’s knowing smile as he watched me gape, everything. But the prices were all wrong. I could have rolled on the floor and bawled. I felt so bad for the guys running the place! Just HOW could they keep it running by charging 12 rupees for a karabath with that offending slice of tomato on top, with as many cups of sambar as you want? How? Now I knew why my classmates thought food in Madras was expensive. Feeling gratitude and sympathy, I nearly went to the counter guy and bowed in deep respect, until Appa pulled me back.

 

Thus, I went to Adigas every day for the next 3 days, to try everything on the menu. And every single day, Appa bundled me off into the car before I did anything to embarrass him and the people who worked there. With occasional change in eating patterns in the form of sandwiches and lassi at Cool Joint, Spanish Rice at Jaya’s place, cke at Café Coffee Day and DBC (although the peanuts on top really truly killed me), my gastronomical experience was complete. Now I officially love Bengaluru.

 

I know that the next time I walk into Saravana Bhavan, I am likely to spew venom and plant a soonyam or something. Because, when I was standing at an Adidas showroom after buying Appa’s third branded T shirt, and my first, staring blankly at an Adidas Club poster, (of which I could become a member if I made a purchase of over Rs. 2000) a familiar voice said over my shoulder, “We can only become Adigas Club members.” He’s right. And oh, I am quite nasty to my rivals.

ALL IS NOT LOST

The heat was getting to me. Standing there in the middle of the road bargaining with the auto kaaran was certainly not my scene. Added to which I could only say to him “Chennai Port Trust, opposite RBI.” When he asked me where, on a lark, I just said “Central pakathle”, because I could see the station from there yesterday. Every time he asked me where it exactly was, I stared like a parrot. The roads looked unfamiliar to me despite going there only the previous day, my sense of direction failing me (as usual if I may add) even when I needed to salvage my pride. I hated floundering like this especially when my classmates from Mangalore and Pune sat next to me, obviously deeming me incapable. Which self-respecting auto kaaran would ask his passengers for directions anyway?

 

 

His non-stop bickering had me screaming hysterically in a while. After a few frustrating stops and hopeful lurches, the auto refused to move beyond the Secretariat. I could have wailed out loud as we dished out 40 bucks to the man, but I forced myself to shut up. Then followed a decent 7 minute trudge to the Port Trust in the hot sun. The lift didn’t work until we had slammed the doors back and forth a good 4 times. Up there in the second floor, we were victims of inefficiency and general inconsistency of instructions, as is characteristic of government offices. A few minutes of waiting while a friend did the talking, and we were actually DONE. What a colossal waste of time, I thought.

 

As we sat in the lobby wondering how to allocate tasks and start work, this settu gurkha comes and chases us away for sitting around. Groaning, we all stood up to leave. On our way out, we see this board that says “No bribe please”. I smirked. Hypocrites.

 

 

We had to sit down somewhere to discuss who was doing what right then, because knowing us, if we didn’t do it right then, we would never do it. And we chose the Port Trust canteen.

 

 

I gaped. I honestly could not believe what stood in front of my eyes. This clean mess area, with rows of food in neat containers manned by delightful smiling grandpas by the side just as we entered, after the token counter. Neatly wiped, squeaky clean tables and functional stools. A well-lit, even if stuffy, canteen stood there. I paid exactly seven rupees for a plate with 4 delicious vazhakka bajjis with chutney and sambar.

 

 

As I sat there eating, with 11 friends who I was going to be virtually living with for the next month to do our various projects, I thought, this is it. I know I sound like a glutton, whose life is set right by the sight of food. But I do know how expensive food in Chennai is, and how empty my pockets are. I thanked God for letting good food remain affordable, and for reminding me that I still took pleasure in these little things. It was going to be easier to pretend to be important worldly wide journalists. People were going to help us without expecting anything in return. Suddenly I no longer cared about the long bus ride back home, the loads of work waiting for me or the sweat trickling down my back. Life is SO worth it. So are violently orange, oily bajjis. Trust them to turn a grouchy woman into a happy little girl who skipped and hopped to the bus stop like a lunatic.

BEING MIDDLE CLASS

People talk of the “haves” and the “have nots”, and of “bridging the gap between the rich and the poor”. Even Thalaivar talked of “the rich getting richer, and the poor becoming poorer”. A quick google search on quotes to do with the ‘middle’ class also doesn’t spring too many results half as profound as that. So, in order to throw more light on the class that falls neither here nor there, here’s an insight into the tendencies and mentality of a middle class young woman, who has, and has not.

She is the sort…

ü Who feels liberated on her scooter, but still prefers the bus, which is middle class homeground. (Petrol prices give her wallet-kindly-gifted-by-foreign-relative a high temperature.)

ü Who stands at DMS bus stop with exactly 4 rupees and two 8 anna coins in her wallet, having spent 5 rupees to get there by share auto from Gemini, praying that a deluxe 11 H wouldn’t come there, screw her happiness and delay her getting home.

ü Whose now infamous wallet always contains more PTC bus tickets than 10 rupee notes.

ü Who wishes there were more hangouts like the beach in Madras, where expenditure is minimum (only bus charge up and down, sundal and manga costs. Occasionally, also bajji with getti chutney. One plate = ten rupees.) Heart and tummy full.

ü Who thinks she has become a snob, because she insists on going to Sathyam or INOX for Tamizh padams even! Whatever happened to all those once-cherished memories of watching A to Z grade Tamizh padams at good old Udayam and Kamala??

ü Who also takes heart at the fact that she is a girl. (The ladies queue at Sathyam’s backside, the pathu rooba ticket counter, obliges the ladies first. )

ü Who loooooooooooves going to Gangotri, but can’t always afford it; so, goes to cheaper counterparts like Hot Chips and even cheaper counterparts like Lakshmanaswamy Salai roadside pani puri kadai. (Bhakyas gave her tummy a tough time once, so she’s not going back there)

ü Who once blew her entire month’s spending money on a lunch at Peppers, and then prayed fervently for some sort of restaurant holocaust to come and wipe all the restaurants in Madras off the face of the earth, save the Murugan Idli Kadais and the Udipis.

ü Who masochistically tries out 2 pairs of jeans while shopping for Diwali, knowing all along that the more expensive, better fitting ones will not be the ones she’ll take home.

ü Who gets eyefuls of the T shirts at Lifestyle, but claims that her own T shirts from Cotton City (Rs 120) and Bombay roadside (Rs 80) are just as nice, if not nicer.

ü Who reserves Nalli for special occasions. Otherwise her salwar kameez loyalties rest with Kairasi.

ü Who enjoys picking up the most jaal yellow colour accessories at the Bhai kadai right outside Kairasi.

ü Who still carefully preserves the first pair of branded shoes she got when she was 17 because it’s her only pair till date.

ü Who has refrained from joining a gym, in an attempt to reduce expenses. She plans to go running on Natesan Salai every morning instead.

ü Who becomes squirmish just sitting in an ostentatious car. She has even gotten her appa to promise that he will never buy a streetcar that screams money, even if they can afford it someday. Whatever would happen to her middle class badge?? *shudder*

ü In whose house, it would be considered blasphemy to eat a whole chocolate bar all by yourself without sharing it with everyone.

ü Whose Ammamma stocks little treats in the form of Lacto kings and Melody toffees in old Kissan jam jars to give to her grandchildren when they come over.

ü Who is likely to severely reprimand her boyfriend if he proposes to her with a diamond ring, and then spend the rest of her life scrimpimg and pinching on personal and household costs, trying to make up for the outrageous figure her husband blew on her ring.

ü Who is sometimes described by her well off friends as being kanjam / alpam, euphemistically even, ‘conservative to the point of being miserly’. But she prefers being thought of as being delightfully middle class.