Dosa party

As I dealt out the liquid Dosa mixture on the tawa, waiting for it to turn crispy yet not brittle, childhood memories wafted in, taking me back by almost 20-25 years. Nostalgia is a luxury that I often allow myself, and delving deep down the memory hole, like Alice, I find a wonderland. A wonderland of beautiful images stitched in vibrant colours. What triggers my trip to that fascinating world varies from time to time. Mostly it's something as innocuous  as  making a Dosa or as I had talked once earlier, making kadhi or meeting old time family friends.

Dosa, the pan Indian 'South Indian’ dish first touched my palate through the loving hands of Rani aunty and George uncle, our Malayali neighbours. The crispness of masala dosa juxtaposed with the hot and tangy sambhar did some kind of magic to my taste bud and initiated a love story that still continues.

My mother encashed upon this love of mine to add another enticing item to her already diverse range of cuisines and it found its way into our kitchen as well.

But her dosa making somehow did not remain confined to our four-member family. What started as her evening treat for her family, slowly blossomed into small evening get-togethers or 'dosa party', as nomenclatured by us. And they became popular in no time.

The soaking of rice and urad dal the evening before, ran simultaneous to calling up friends,

• “come over tomorrow evening, I'm going to make dosa"
• Sure! Wouldn't like to miss it. And I shall come early to help you with preparations.
• Arre no no, just come and we shall have a nice evening.

Similar conversations generally followed with a few more friends. And for us, an evening of dosa also translated into an evening playing around with friends, chitchats and fun.

Peeping through the nostalgic clouds around those evening, I recall the camaraderie between my  mother and other aunties. They would, at complete ease, take hold of my mother's kitchen and ma would busy herself overseeing eating, loading empty plates with still more sambhar, chutney and dosa. Aunties kept taking turns to pour the liquid batter over the hot tawa and while waiting for the batter to assume the perfect crispiness, they gossiped to their hearts content. The kitchen transcended its utilitarian aspect to become a space for budding and nurturing bonhomie. It became a space for exchanging news, finding and offering solace, of laughter and advice, of shared joys and disappointments, and most importantly, into a zone of close friendship.

Such evenings were very dear to my mother and her friends as they had the capability to turn a monotonous lonely existence into one of companionship. in the peaceful but limited life of Gomia, such evenings were breathers especially for our mothers. Today as I looked at my guests for our dosa party and my child play acting the role of the waiter, offering his hand made menu cards to them, those evenings came back more powerfully to me. in a completely dissimilar lifestyle of 24x7 hours of running around, of virtual socialising,  these evenings are once again breathers, bringing in the much required human touch in our otherwise gadget dominated lives. Though our dosa party has now diversified from serving just masala dosa to cheese and butter dosa, along with the chicken and egg variants as well, though the number of kids playing around has also reduced considerably, the essence of togetherness and adda has still remained the same. Certain things remain unchanged even through generations, even across time and places.