(Note – it is not a regular article, just a fleeting reality….here it goes)
It wasn’t about having that dosa in the homely niche called Vaishali that the Pune-ites have known since generations; it was about who I was having it with. Breakfast never seemed like an exciting affair (although an important meal it is) but that day it was all upside down, little did I know all things then on would never be upright again.
Through my holiday morning schedule and swimming all I could think of was of that perfectly rounded dosa…. and that beautiful, enthralling smile…
..that nice crunchy paper thin crust; those twinkling hazel eyes..
..those well-cooked yellow potatoes with hint of the wet earth; that free, pleasant, mellow laugh..
..that spicy masala tadka; that mischievously sweet voice..
Keeping aside a thousand reasons to blame, I had missed it, my last dosa at Vaishali…but then I still had you, smiling and waiting, ready for a long drive. And a long drive it was with Dominique Cerejo humming ‘yeh tumhari meri baatein, chalti rahein’, and no particular place to go, it turned out to be an unforgettable one.
……..thats enough of flash back.
Food and music have a weird language of their own, often hard to understand and sometimes too confusing. Today I have happily dined in many restaurants, even three of the world’s top ten and am drowned in the world of food but still I crave for that one bite of dosa. No restaurant or dish equals that. I still wonder if the dosa had a way of telling me to stay back for another bite on another day, although it is too late to know the answer now.
A breakfast of dosa it was, but not a single dish in Jean-Georges or a special dinner in Daniel has been able to surpass that standard of exquisite simplicity and happiness.
It was a simple dosa that I missed, my last dosa in Vaishali…and now I still miss you.