Dumping the IDLI!

Dumping the IDLI!

 Easy-to-make, easy-to-eat, and teamable with anything from jam and sauce to grandma’s delicious homemade chutney powder – the idli is indeed the staple food in my family.

 Now, I had nothing against the idli per se, it is usually soft and chewy, and perfect for hasty breakfasts. Eaten with the right kind of chutney, it can be quite a lip-smacking affair. But, the making of idli batter is quite an art, with the proportions of each ingredient being of utmost importance. Unfortunately, the idli-making gene seems to have skipped my family, and the idlis in our house usually turn out to be hard, rubber-like, unchewable lumps. It was no wonder that I hated idlis, and absolutely detested the very sight of them.

It seemed like I was going to be stuck with the idli forever. Try as they might, my parents could not come up with a better breakfast plan, and as much as I hated to say it, neither could I. I racked my brains, trying to figure out a plan that could free me from the rubber idlis. An alternative breakfast! I knew that was the answer. As I explained to my incredulous parents, I would make my own breakfast for two weeks- two idli free weeks, where I could make noodles for breakfast, bid the idli goodbye. At the end of two weeks, we promised to reach an amicable settlement to the issue of breakfast food.

The first day of my experiment, and I woke up late. The noodles would never cook in two minutes! I hurriedly slapped on a slice of cheese on the bread and chomped it down, while running to catch the bus. A week passed, and the noodles had not yet been cooked. I drank milk and cornflakes, ate variations of bread and buns everyday, and watched with some envy, as my parents ate lip-smacking idlis with deliciously tangy chutney. I turned away doggedly, recalling sharply their rubber-like taste and general unpleasantness. I made a fierce resolution to wake up early, and treat myself to a good breakfast. The deed was done. The water boiled, the noodles were cooked, the masala added, and a fork plunged into the steaming noodles. It tasted wonderful, but there was something missing. I sighed resignedly – it seemed like there was a special task force assigned to keep me from enjoying a good breakfast.
  
 The two weeks were over, and I woke with a leaden feeling in my stomach. I dressed in a zombie-like state, anticipating the rubber idlis with dismay. It looked like I had no escape from the dreaded idlis. As I walked towards the dining table, I rubbed my eyes in disbelief. In place of the usual small, hard cold idli was a plump, steaming, soft idli. As I looked askance at my parents, they gave me a small smile and waved me towards the idlis. They looked good, and they tasted even better. As I sat back with a sigh of contentment, I asked them what had brought about this miraculous turn of affairs.

Surprising coy and vague, I didn’t get an answer from them. Well, it didn’t really matter of course, as long as I could have this delicious fare everyday. I got up, and walked towards the kitchen for a final idli, and there I saw in the corner, a small edge of something, almost invisible. I smiled, amused when I saw the packet proclaiming – ‘delicious ready-to-make idli batter’. That explained a lot, and one thing was for sure – this had to be the greatest invention to grace mankind since the idli!     

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