The world is divided into two kinds of people — those who eat idlis and those who don’t. There aren’t many of the latter variety. And of those who do eat idlis, there are many categories. So consider the following.

Are you one that asks for your idli in a deep plate, where two steaming white idlis are placed and then drowned in ladlefuls of sambar? The two perfect rounds can hardly be seen under the angry orange-red liquid. And then, with one spoon or two, you work upon them till the liquid is mixed in, to yield lovely rice dumplings that look like a plateful of mess. You tuck in then and belong to the category of messidly.

A step further, you may order a similar deep plate to contain not only two idlis but also a vada. All three pretty rounds get swamped by sambar. After that, tock tock goes the spoon upon the plate till everything is mixed up. Add the off-white coconut chutney to that mix. It becomes technicolour. That category is goshawful messidly.

To be sure, I belong to both these categories. But it was not always that way. I was a better soul once. I would order idlis in a three-compartment steel plate: one compartment for the idlis, one for the sambar and the third for the chutney. This morning, I was watching one diner from that category. He went tock, carefully upon the white round with his spoon, to yield a postage stamp sized morsel, and just as carefully, moved the spoon into the sambar, and opened his mouth just a wee bit for the spoon’s entry. The next postage stamp sized morsel in the spoon travelled to the chutney, and was then partaken of. And so he alternated, one bit idli with sambar, next bit idli with chutney. He was of the fussidly category in contrast to the messidly.

... contd.