Idly

Idly

                                                                        Steamed with love and tempered with contentment

Lakshmi searched for an old strapless watch in the drawer. “How do I manage all alone?” she asked herself. Her husband Subbaiah was least interested in accompanying her to the idly stall in front of Nirmala High School. Her son got married to his classmate and had long ago left her.

“So what if they left me. I have so many grandchildren here in the school,” she would tell herself often.

“Ten minutes to four,” she murmured when she found the watch and waited eagerly for the school kids to come out of the school. The idlis were left to simmer, ready to be served hot. The school bell rang. Lakshmi hurriedly emptied the steamed idlis into a huge casserole, quickly filled the idly maker with the batter and gently slid it into the steamer.

“Lakshmiamma, I am hungry. Where’s my plate?” asked Ashwin, looking at the idly maker impatiently.

Ashwin, Nirmala’s fastest sprinter was studying in Class 7. He loved the soft idlis that Lakshmi made. He had a special affection for the idly maker and often rewarded her with one or two extra rupees.

“A new fast food canteen is coming up here. May be you’ll try them soon.”

“I love your idlis Lakshmiamma and I don’t like fast food,” the twelve year old boy replied, placing money on the table.

“I know you give him an extra idly every day,” said Narsimha, the tea stall owner and picked an idly to dip in his chai. In return, he sometimes offered Lakshmi half a cup of tea.

“Anna, he reminds me of my son. Looks like him,” said Lakshmi and turned to her idlis.

Narsimha smiled and went towards the construction site. Lakshmi wondered why he was concentrating more on someone else’s construction than on his chai stall.

 A few days later, Lakshmi found that the new grand fast food canteen was actually owned by Narsimha, her neighbor. She became anxious. He didn’t let her know anything about his plans.

The canteen was decorated well and there were mouth watering pictures of snacks and other eatables on the wall. She feared that students of Nirmala High School might prefer her neighbor’s samosas, bondas, bread pizza, pastries, patties, fried crispy potato chips and flavored juices over her idlis.

“A thousand rupees more for my yatra to Tirupati and then fifty rupees a day will suffice for a living,” she told her worried self and tried to draw away from the thoughts.

 Many children thronged to Narsimha’s canteen while a few of them lingered at her stall.

Lakshmi’s eyes searched for Ashwin. He had not been coming to school for the past week. She wondered what had happened to him. ‘Perhaps, the kid has taken a holiday for himself,’ she thought.

Narsimha was doing well with his fast food canteen and Lakshmi remained where she was. She knew that she envied him. Sometimes while preparing the batter for idlis, she forgot to add salt and at times the batter was too watery. Children who had been coming to her stall regularly preferred Narsimha’s canteen over her stall.

Lakshmi was sad. She stared at Narsimha but he ignored her continuing with his business.

One day, in her dream, Lakshmi steamed idlis, slit them on the four sides from the corners, added some butter, fried them a bit, garnished with grated carrot and some coriander and said, “Here, your idly pizza!”

Then she made idly sandwiches, idly nuggets, idly burgers, chilly idly and crispy idly fry. Soon children of Nirmala School were glued to her stall and in a few days her business prospered. Narsimha was puzzled and gaped at her stall scratching his head. Finally, he fell at her feet and requested her to take over his fast food canteen and start a special ‘Stop for Idlis’ centre.

She laughed within herself. She was beginning to feel elated when all of a sudden she felt that the earth was beginning to shake. Loud voices were heard.

No! No! My Idlis!

Still shaking the cot as hard as he could, Subbaiah said, “Wake up, you old woman, it’s dawn.”

In the evening, when Ashwin came to Lakshmi’s stall after a long time, he noticed that she was staring at Narsimha’s tiny canteen unaware of his presence and his voice. After a few minutes, she came out of the reverie and found Ashwin standing before her, his hands folded.

Once Ashwin ate the idlis, he said, “Lakshmiamma, your idlis are the best in the world. The chutney tastes like my amma’s and you know why I say this? Because you cook with love and serve with kindness. That’s what my amma used to do when she was alive.”

Lakshmi’s eyes welled up. She had been busy envying Narsimha while ignoring the taste of her idlis. Her heart broke when she heard that Ashwin had lost his Amma. Tears gushed down her cheeks. She placed her hand on the boy’s head and blessed him.

That night Lakshmi spent some time in her verandah thinking of the joy that she earned from selling idlis to children of Nirmala High School. She was no more jealous of Narsimha and laughed at herself for being silly.

The next day, the school bell rang. Lakshmi was cheerful. A lip smacking aroma filled the area near her stall and drew the children to her stall. Narsimha too smelt the sambar and couldn’t wait to eat idlis.  

“Lakshmiamma,” Narsimha smiled hesitatingly, “I just can’t wait to eat your idlis with sambar. You steam idlis with some kind of magic I believe.”

“No, they are steamed with love and tempered with contentment,” said Lakshmi and looked at Ashwin with sparkling teardrops of joy in her eyes.