Two and a half hours later, I woke up with red eyes, wondering where the hell I was and what I was doing in this unknown place.
After blanking out for a few seconds, I somehow managed to dodge my way from the bedroom to the living room with my water bottle in hand. I’m glad I didn’t break anything because my eyes were still half shut.
Abhi had returned from work and was sitting on the living room couch, watching TV. I raised my hand to greet him and stumbled into the kitchen to fill my bottle.
A few sips of water helped pour consciousness back into me. Managing to open my eyes, I walked like a sane human back into the living room. I told Abhi about my drive and asked him a few questions about Belagavi. He was a very friendly and relaxed person, and although he had just returned from work after a tiring day, he answered all my questions patiently.
Our conversation soon turned to dinner. I was craving for a light South Indian meal, so I asked him if there was any place close by where I could have good idlis and uttapam.
He asked me if I wanted to join him for dinner at the dining hall where he often had his dinner. They didn’t have idli, but they had great wholesome meals, he said.
I would have joined him, but I wasn’t hungry enough to have a full meal. Too many hours of driving had reduced my appetite. Besides, I was also concerned about the meal being too spicy or oily. idli felt like a safe, wholesome, and tasty choice.
Very generously, Abhi changed his own dinner plans and volunteered to drive me to what he claimed was a place that made great idlis.
Tumkur Tatte idli. That was the name of the restaurant we walked into. He asked me if I had ever heard of them. I said I hadn’t. He said they served special Thate style idlis.
When our meal was served, I noticed that the idlis looked different. They were shaped like soft, thick white pancakes with flat sides. Very different from the flying saucer-shaped idlis I was accustomed to. But it wasn’t just the idlis that were different. The sambar and chutni also tasted extraordinary, as if they were made of stardust and moonshine and a pinch of venusian soil. They were out of this world!!!
Now I’m no idli aficionado, but I’ve earned my stripes by eating idlis in all sorts of places. Heck, there was a time when I’ve battled the crowds in the Andheri-Churchgate local to eat idlis at Satkar. And I’ve eaten the world’s second-best idlis at a roadside joint in Tiruvannamalai that served four mouth watering idlis with a jug (it was almost a pail) of unlimited sambar — all for Rs. 20.
But I’d never seen or tasted idlis like these before. I devoured a plate of their Thate idlis followed by uttapam and filter coffee. I ended up eating far more than what I might have eaten at the dining hall, but then again, it’s hard to resist good idlis and uttapam. Seeing our empty plates, the waiter came to ask if we’d like to order anything else. I burped thrice in response.
With satiated stomachs, we returned to Abhi’s house, where he once again extended his generosity by offering me ice cream.
Like a Jedi, Abhi removed a couple of ice-cream cups with one hand and waved his TV remote like it was Luke Skywalker’s lightsaber with the other. As a result of his masterful jugglery, James Bond and ice cream materialized at the same time in the living room.
Abhi was clearly relishing the ice cream and Bond’s escapades. I do enjoy a good Bond movie once in a while, but I’m not a big fan. And anyway, as far as I’m concerned, Sean Connery was the first and last Bond, so I turned my attention to ice cream and ate it with a sprinkling of fancy gadgets and Roger Moore’s polished daredevil antics.
It was the perfect way to end a tiring day.
After some time, I thanked Abhi and retired to bed early because I wanted to leave for Bengaluru by 6:30 the next morning.
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