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Lina Krishnan
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At
the hallowed door of this Bangalore-famous eatery, leaf baskets of fresh mallige await the jasmine-loving hands of
mamis resplendent in Mysore silk, mamas eager to catch up on a colleague’s
retirement flutters.
In
the ante room, in a faded sepia sketch, a balding Jawaharlal walks
Towards
Gandhi. His mentor who looks like he’s waited long enough
To
meet again, his tired favourite.
Space
is at a premium here, even more than medhu
vadas at Rs 40.
A
departing eater touches his beeda
reverently to his eyes, before popping the astringent paan bundle right in. At this holiest of holies
Where
ghee is worshipped, the High Priest
is the Man at the Door, with a name roster worthy of Madame Defarge. His beady
eye rejects all comers, till he nods to a lucky few, to enter the Sanctum
Sanctorum
Where
waiters in pink shirts flit about, offering Kharabath,
with a single tomato slice like the Benz logo in the flesh, MTR patent rava idli, or masaal dose. And one by two kaapi
in what they call, eversilver glasses.
Glossary:
Mami:
any lady. Mama: any gent. Mallige: kannada for jasmine. Beeda: paan/betel leaf.
Medhu vadas/ kharabath/masaal dose: savoury snacks. Ghee: a kind of butter. Kaapi:
kannada for coffee. Eversilver: metal that doesn’t get tarnished
***
Bio Note: Lina Krishnan is a
poet, abstract artist and photographer in Bangalore. She has a chapbook of
nature verse, Small Places, Open Spaces, with Melbourne poet Valli
Poole. For her, Gandhiji’s relevance is about him being seeped in the very
essence of this nation’s soil and air. He is like a family elder, stern and
indulgent by turn, but a constant lodestar for one’s values.
