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I made uttpams.

I made uttapams for breakfast. I know that there are many theories on the origin of idli and dosa. I have a take on the origin story of uttapams. That it was discovered by someone like me who did not know how to make dosas. Or rather, who could not make dosas. He than discovered that pouring small, pancake-like batter mixes – readymade batter to which he added the holy trinity of finely chopped tomato, onion and chilli- on a dosa wok which he had kept on low flame and had greased with coconut oil – and then flip worked. A bit like how galawati kebabs are considered to be the easier to make version of kakori kebabs which call for a fair bit of skill.

Oottupura lunch

With that I used the spicy ridge gourd chutney and the veg stew leftover from the fabulous Oottupura lunch that Marina Balakrishnan (known digitally as @thatthalaserrygirl) sent us yesterday. What we like about her food is that it is light and flavourful and packed with vegetables. I also made a fried egg and used the Bio Basics coconut oil for both the uttapam and the egg. I smeared the egg with Meengurry Memories’ mulgapodi. My dietician, Ria Ankola, told me to have two eggs every morning, no matter what else I eat. And vegetables with every meal. This was almost there but then what’s one egg between friends?

Unlike the potato and paneer fetish driven vegetarian restaurants of Mumbai,
Marina’s meals actually have vegetables!

I finished the sumptuous breakfast and went for a shower while K left for work. I came out of the shower and found little Nimki and Baby Loaf on our bed. As if keeping guard on me. I was about to take the tee shirt I had taken out to wear when I found Loaf lying snug on it. I did not have the heart to pull it from beneath him and took another tee out.

Daddy’s little bodyguards

The scene reminded me an afternoon in 1985 when something when something similar happened. My chhotamashi (youngest maternal aunt) was coming to Kolkata during her break from her college in Delhi. She was travelling by train and dadu, my late maternal grandpa, was going to Howrah Station to pick her up. I was filled with excitement. She is the youngest among the siblings and just about 11 and a half  years older to me. That made us pretty thick. I was all set to go with him when dadu said that he would not take me. It would be too rushed at the station when coolies jumping on, cargo being unloaded into hand-pulled vans and the long queue to get a taxi. It would get very dark by then and there would be all sorts of unsavoury characters around. Not the place for an 11 year old, he gently explained.

Won’t let you go

 

I puffed my cheeks and tears began to roll down my eyes. Then I got an idea. Dadu had gone to freshen up and didu had taken out a freshly washed shirt, trousers and the white drawstring ancestor of modern day boxer shorts.

I took his trousers and hid them!

He came out and figured out what happened. Scolding me never crossed his mind. After protracted rounds of negotiation, I gave him the trousers and we both went to the station. He took me to the railway canteen and ordered dosas for both of us. Preceded by the super sweet apple juice from the HPMC vending machine that we both loved. My aunt got off the train which was late of course. I cheerfully waved at her and the three of us went to the taxi queue and waited for 45 minutes for a cab while I downloaded what was happening in my life to her.

At 3.5 yrs, Baby Loaf, is not exactly a kitten in cat years. Yet, I am convinced that he lay on my freshly washed tee shirt to ensure that I did not leave the house given that Mummy Loaf had left already.

What do you think?

Baby Loaf is Baby Raja (my nickname)

You will find many such stories in The Diary of a Cat Dad. This is my second book and I have begun writing it. The publishers have set up a crowdfunding page to raise funds to publish it. Here’s where you can click if you would like to contribute. Thank you.

 

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