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Lost Cause

 I am very much not a fan of modern interpretations of traditional dishes. When the victim is an Indian dish I know and love, the disappointment is much deeper. In my last trip to India, I truly struggled to find standard issue idli, vada and sambar at the airports. There was every kind of variant on the theme of this classic breakfast dish but not the basic stuff that I had hoped for as soon as I landed in India. 

Reading about this outrageous dish that bears dosa in its name had me quite horrified. I watched a video that showed how this abomination is made and was at a loss for words. Things like this make me feel like I simply don't get India anymore. How does something like this come to exist and what are the reasons for it to be popular? What was so bad and wrong about the dosa that required such makeover? I will never know ofcourse and have to deal with that feeling of bamboozlement I have come to expect upon arrival in the motherland. 

There used to be a thela-wallah that did the rounds of my childhood neighborhood with his charcoal stove, batter, sambar and chutneys all in the ready. He drew the attention of his customers by banging on the iron skillet with a large spoon. It was usually right between snack and dinner time for the kids. That sound had an absolutely magnetic pull on us. We would work on our mothers to get us dosa for dinner and we all had our occasional success. We circled the thela with our plate savoring the smells as we waited eagerly for our dosas.

Watching him make the dosa was like discovering how a magician pulls a rabbit out of his hat. The skillet would be greased with a the stem of an eggplant dipped in oil - a natural, organic knob spreading it quickly and evenly. He would sprinkle water in a bit to make sure it hissed - that meant the iron was hot enough. Then he would spread the batter and in a few minutes. magically the perfect dosa would appear. It was bigger, thinner, crisper and all the way better than anything our mothers could make at home. He served it on our plate along with little leaf bowls of sambar and chutney. Just like day a mundane evening in our lives would become special. I am grateful to have that memory to hold on to notwithstanding the atrocity I have just seen involving mayo, unknown sauces and cheese in the body of a dosa.

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