"The Rise and Fall of Idlis"

(15h March, 2010. 839 words)

Some days everything turns out good; and some days everything turns out not so good. But we get to know that only as the day progresses. That particular day, when I got out of my car and was heading for my office on the third floor, I had a strange feeling that things were going to be good. The moment I stepped into the office, I saw Vivek with his usual roly-poly and boisterous presence beaming at me. He came near and announced, “Boss, we have planned something exciting for the lunch!”
“What’s so special today?” I exclaimed.
“Nothing! Just to pep up our spirits for the year-end” said Vivek, with his eyes brimming with enthusiasm.
“Then what’s that exciting stuff you have planned for?” I queried.
“How would you like to have something from the South –say, Idlis…?” he said in a teasing tone.
“Idlis?” I almost shouted.”Did you say what I think I heard you say?” He nodded with his face beaming as he knew his words spelt magic on me.
“You mean... the soft, mellow, buttery, steaming, delightful heavenly things that we so lovingly consume in umpteen numbers every morning in the South?” I asked, still suspecting a cruel joke being played on me. But having known Vivek, I ruled out such a possibility and blurted out “How could I … ever thank you my dear friend?”
“You are welcome Boss! But please be available at lunch time as the stuff arrives from the nearby joint and there are quite a few people who would like to have a go at them”
Now I understood why the strange feeling about things turning good today came about a few minutes ago. I was exhilarated and felt almost as happy as I would be, when one of my truant borrowers called up to say that he was clearing the over-dues.
Idlies have always been my favorite snack since childhood. In the South, as the day dawns, a plateful of steaming Idli appears with its consorts-chutney and sambar and people get on to the daily chores only after attending the ‘Idli Service’. The art of making idlis is transferred to the daughters religiously by their mothers, even when they are quite young. As a child, I heard a couple stories about how some marriage alliances were unceremoniously rejected due to the girl’s ignorance of making Idlis. Unconfirmed rumors during those times talked about ‘Idli harassment’ being the main reason behind ‘dowry harassments’. I also heard about how a belligerent husband was tamed and subjugated to slavery by a wife intelligent enough to make buttery Idlis every morning. More recently when I was in Delhi attending the budget meeting, I involuntarily accepted a few crores hike in revenue budget, when I saw Idlis being arranged for lunch on the side table.
I cannot now clearly recollect how I finished my morning meetings, daily business trackers, credit queries. But I remember that I went through the stuff with an unblemished smile, with my mind probably working out on a decent equation of how many Idlis I would have that afternoon.
The moment arrived and on a signal from Vivek, I hurried towards the pantry room unmindful of the closed glass partition and banged my forehead. Cursing silently, I went into the congested pantry room. The scene was not very encouraging with quite a few people gathering around something that seemed like a big casserole. As I wanted a more peaceful milieu for the rendezvous with my favorite snack, I returned deciding to come back a little later.
I was briefly possessed by idli mindedness. In my imaginary World, the planets looked like giant-sized celestial Idlis. The World appeared to be ‘idli-eaters’ paradise. I felt a strong need for starting societies world-wide for the promotion of ‘idli-consciousness’. “Idli-eaters of the World unite! You have nothing to brave but a few banged foreheads!” I shouted to myself.
A few minutes later I moved into the pantry as if in a trance. The scene cleared quite a bit with hardly a couple of guys hanging about. The casserole looked empty and I feared the worst. “Take this boss. I sensed trouble and kept these for you”. Vivek’s voice from behind, sounded like music. I turned around with great relief and looked at the plate. The sky shattered and the Earth shuddered under my feet; my hyper-excited inner-self crashed into smithereens and disappeared into oblivion. I looked at the cold, crumpled, unattractive, rubbery, unglamorous, hard-boiled, repulsive and shapeless objects for the last time and momentarily blacked out.
“Bon appetite Boss?” Vivek was smiling and I found shades of Amrish Puri and Khulbhushan Karbhanda in him. My face turned crimson with rage. “You just see me in my office Mr.Vivek and don’t forget to get your budget sheets” I hissed viciously and stormed out of the pantry….
(It’s work of fiction and my apologies to Vivek. As a matter of fact, Vivek’s wife makes the most authentic looking Idlis which he keeps getting for us now and then)
……………..