“What is this Vada?”, asked the amused Phirangi doling out his quota full of an Indian dish themed unconventional to his western eyes.
The waiter looked surprised. Everyone around him looked surprised.
It was considered a blasphemy not to know this particular snack in the rich suburb of Chawal Cholk, New Delhi. A blasphemy for someone who is as famous as this Phirangi not to know the nuances of a Dilli-Mera-Jaan dudes!
After all, who has not heard of the great food empire, The McL Kentucky Laxmi.
***
Few Years Back
“You can judge a person by the way he ties his lungi”, my mom always used to tell me. As a kid I was always confused, since my mom never had any first hand experience on how to tie the lungi, but later assumed that she had probably told me so, so as to imbibe in me the greatest Sanskar of the desi-Hindu family of “You don’t judge a woman or her cow!”. In this family of Menons, my mom always knew that I would be Pheno-Menon!
“You can judge a person by the way he ties his lungi”. It was the first time I met Bijoy Happy Das, and it was when he was struggling to tie his dhoti in the room that I was supposed to share with him. His parents would’ve been extremely happy that he was born ( I suspect that they still feel the same ), that they named him Bijoy Happy Das, or in the way I put it, “Happy Happy thus far”. Born in a land that cannot do enough with Lungis and Shakeela by the night, it was such a disappointment to have a Bengali roommate who couldn’t dutifully fulfil the need of tying a Dhoti. Kuttanadan would be highly displeased!
“Hey can you please help me with this”, requested this Dholu-Bholu boy. Spectacled, round faced and tummy that could easily fit in a hundred Roshagollas, Bijoy Happy was everything that could one be unhappy of. I ignored his humble pleas of mercy, as I started hoodwinking him by being busy staring at the hundreds of mails dancing in my Outlook inbox.
One particular mail caught my eye, about my office welcoming some Bengal dude to work and who is going to be appointed as my reporting boss. That’s when the sweet kernel of last night’s coconut milk hit my medulla oblongata. I looked back. “Sampath Narayanan & Associates” was well etched in the ID card that was lying on the table, which sadly wasn’t mine.
Bijoy’s round eyes was poking out of his round face, perpendicularly staring at me. “MR. ACHUTANATHAN MENON CAN YOU PLEASE COME HERE!” barked the not-so-happy Bijoy Happy.
“Yes, boss”, words forced their way out of my mouth.
And that’s how this mallu-tale of this Achutanathan Menon started. Probably after communism and chai, awkwardness is what united the Bengali and this Keralite…
***
For part 2, click this – https://thedoctrineoflassi.wordpress.com/2016/05/09/mc-l-kentucky-laxmi-pour-the-batter/
The Doctrine Of Lassi 
Bijoy Vada Dili
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