Friday, November 2, 2007
The combination of restricted supply, a tangy tomato sauce and a cocunut chutney with a dash of garlic has created an aura around Pongal which is unparalleled. Its almost like the soup nazi from Seinfeld except the proprietor speaks Tamil and wields an iron ladle.
I've noticed the look on a pongal-denied customer face . He looks deep in thought, contemplating the potential catastrophic effects of increased pongal supply in this world and not really reaching a fruitful conclusion with that train of thought . There is of course, the satiated guy at the table who gets jolted out of his pongal-induced reverie by the thoughts of a world where there is only pongal to be had.
This is where one feels like doffing one's hat to the proprietor for his astute understanding of the human mind. Its not obvious to the layman but he who cooks pongal knows exactly how much of it would leave enough with it and without it.
I fortunately ended up on the good side of the divide today but there is no guarantee if the staus quo would spill over to my next visit.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
I got caught in the rain last night. Not alone though. It came down on me almost without a warning. It went from a likeable drizzle to an angry downpour in a matter of few seconds. That's when I scurried for shelter inside this unfinished house.
The gatekeeper at the house didn't mind me standing at the non-existent door waiting for the rain to stop. Just when I was done staring at the now desolate road, that I noticed a truck parked in front of the house. A truck full of gravel , two men in its back,with shovels who were dumping the gravel by the road. They continued to work, unaffected by rain, naked except for a flimsy loincloth around their legs.
I tried striking a conversation with the gatekeeper but he didn't speak english or hindi. I tried gesticulating , asking him why those two men couldn't come inside the house and finish the job when the rain stopped . He replied but I didn't really get it. I went back to watching them work, undettered, almost unconscious of the weather. I watched them until they became two dark silhouettes in the downpour outlined by their shovels, displaced gravel and the raindrops which now slid off their bodies with increasing ease.
I tried gesticulating at them but I could see that between us we did not speak a common language.
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Monday, July 2, 2007
And I don't even have to be in a hurry to experience this. It's one of those life's unanswered mysteries which makes me board an elevator everyday....