The Magical Tiffin Centre

Imperative as it is, I believe the most important thing to do in the morning, apart from brushing teeth is, to fill the stomach. And what's the word, ah yes, breakfast. They say that breakfast should be really heavy, to sustain the daylong hectic lives of ours, to fuel our body. And for south Indians, breakfast is such a pleasant affair, with a range of foods to choose from, my personal favourite being idlis and dosas (whole range of them). Southies are so famous for their tiffins that even Kolkata has a Sarvanan Bhavan and Udupi hotel.

But off late, I've stopped eating breakfast at the chain food eateries where they are all just same. I mean, when you break a piece of piping hot idly (which, nowadays, are stone cold on the serving table) or a piece of dosa, you share a connection with the food, a bond, a vow, to satisfy all your senses and keep you happy and gay, all day. But unfortunately, they break the vow. They become fillers and nothing else. No satisfaction to the ultimate foodie. And there I was, on the quest to satisfy all my senses, including my purse. On my way to work, with an empty stomach, I was aching for good food. And the Almighty blessed me.

There he was, with a steel drum-like casserole and two dabbas hanging to the front handle of a cycle with two different thick liquids, which were actually two different kinds of chutneys. I stopped near him as I saw hungry mortals like me eating idli. I went to the guy and asked him his menu. It included only two dishes, idlis and dosas. Ask any southie and they would say why idli and dosa never run out of popularity. I asked him for a plate of idly and he opened his drum. Like Aladdin lamp rubbed, there came the fumes first, carrying the mixed aroma of the two available dishes and then came out the hot idlis onto my tiny plate. And it was very small, like a baby's plate. The guy served me nearly 9 idlis. Do not judge my weight or the extent of my hunger by the number of idlis served to me, they were the size of my new-born nephew’s palm and as thick as an Apple iPod. He ‘garnished’ the idlis with the viscous chutneys. I was worried about burning my finger if I touch those piping hot idlis but ultimately, hunger overcame the fear. I broke a piece of idly, which was warm, warm enough to eat and since it was already covered with chutney, I put it into my mouth. And the aura of the taste and aroma engulfed me, and I smiled into myself, rewinding into my mind the momentous experience I just had. I had the urge to experience it more and more, by eating very slowly, but then again, my watch reminded me that it's time for the office. Quickly, I finished my plate and drank the water in the jug nearby. I must admit that the jug needed special care from Vim bar and a really good scrub. I resumed to pay the guy and gave him a 20-rupee note, with no change in expectation. He smiled at me and gave back 10-rupee note. I stared at the note and at him and the note and him again. Ten bucks for nine minuscule but filling idlis! In Hyderabad? This is the biggest joke of the millennium. I laughed out loud. Now he stared at me. Before he could conclude anything about my state of mind, I got onto my bike and rode away. And from then on, I became his regular customer. And every time I eat tiffin at his mobile tiffin centre (and the smallest one I know), I remember the precocious experience I had for the first time. I realize that he not just serves tiffin; he serves his love to every customer who ever eats at his cycle tiffin centre.