Anda Gondu Thanda pani

 "Ayyo Amma, aapko rape karke du?" I'm already raped by his courtesies. My first ever interaction with a South Indian at a local book shop. I look at him ghastly, "What do you mean?" Almost shouting into his face standing in rapt attention of me. "Nahi karneka toh bolneka,humko kya hai?" Not stopping he goes muttering under his breath, "Bhalai ka zamana hi nahi rehne ka?"

I applaud him that he has all the ethics of asking a woman before Raping her. Suddenly, I develop huge respect for him and look at him fondly. To which he picks up the books I have selected for a friend and with hand gestures again continues to please me, "Akka, wapas puchta isko Rape karne ka ki nahi?" I amusingly nod, at least he has been kind enough to come from Amma to Akka, and he starts wrapping the books. All the while, I admire his innocence and zest for English language but above all appreciate the passion for his work. Very neatly and meticulously he rapes sorry wraps the glittery paper adding a small note on top. "Iske upar likhne ka," Instructions don't fail you. Knowing and acknowledging his pronounciation folly, I add the cherry on top,"Anna, rape ekdum mast kiya!"

All that doesn't begin well, can be ended well. Humour helps you do it effortlessly.

Well this blog of mine is dedicated to all my South Indian friends made more recently on various virtual platforms. I have been a pakka marathi mulgi, educated by the nuns and spoiled by none other than the Gujjus as friends by dhoklas and undhiyos. My interactions with the South India were so limited, that Kerala as a holiday destination happens post marriage only. I can never make out a Tamil from a Telugu and a Kannada from a Mallu. For my fragile knowledge, till school they all are, 'Anda Gondu Thanda Pani!' College brought in myriad of friends and social circle deepened. Yet there is not a single Filter Capy loving soul within the circumference. The acquaintance of South India takes a step ahead with savouring the idlis and dosas, occasionally vadas with tomato chutney at Ramakrishna hotel, Vile Parle. This too is more of budget friendly menu than taste satisfying appetite. A poor man's food is what all the friends tease each other when one orders the 15ruppee dipped idli. When pocket money overflows, its always the Chinese dragon that takes over. So again I'm at not knowing my humble 'batterful' friends from the Pennisular plateau. 

My first ever healthy interaction with the God's own country happens when post marriage I have a Mrs. Menon to share my cultural blues. (Love is blind, a girl from suburbs of Borivali lands in the towns of Dombivali, after chasing her Prince Charming. I have lost my faith in Fairy Tales.) Mrs. Menon's daughter is a fan of my chapatis and she relishes them every evening at my abode as if there is an Italian spread. I don't know how to react to a 3yr old calling me Amma and then asking for ghee chapattti.(those extra 't's are her adjunctions to please me to make a perfect gol.) I keep wondering why on earth one must love something so ordinary or mundane? To which my Thy Neighbour enlightens me that most South Indian households do not stress themselves on wheaty gols and they prefer their ricey fermented bigger gols. Now a goal to be achieved. 

That's it. Post Mrs. Menon no one makes an impression on my opinions about South India. The Anda Gundu thanda pani philosophy continues. But the lockdown makes it very clear to me, to get my all notions into a no nonsense zone and somewhere the meeting with South Indian friends is destined. Not one or two but they come into my life like packs of witty wolves. I read and write with them. I share my love for food with them. Dekhte hi Dekhte I'm in love with them. None of them calls me Amma or Akka but all respect and love me as if I'm one or both to them. Their warm hearts keep me cosily even if its a corner, you are given as if its the best place for you to be in. I marvel at their choice of books to choice of holidays they opt for. One common thing is they all love their Sambhar as much as they love Shakespeare. They go out of their way to call you over and make you indulge in their delicacies. Its not that, 'Bolne mein kya jata hai? 'attitude. They mean what they say. They do what they mean. One loves Modi the same way, a Gujju bestows his respect. No communal biases whether in politics or culture. They very proudly call a spade a spade and use it more sharply to peel a tender coconut for you. They may do a bhangra in lungi and swirl at dandiyas in the same cotton affair. Yet their enthusiasm is infectious. Commitment bound and God fearing, singing 'Aiyyappa Ho'in the sancity of temples such are my South Indian brothers and sisters. They proudly wear the grey ash on their forehead, making them recognised as part of the whole sect.  Highly educated, I highly recommend you to have at least five South Indian friends. Why five? Gosh now I have around fifty of them. So whatever I have, I always wish a part of it for you too. 

After all this, today I still can't make a Tamil from Telugu and Kannada from Mallu. Once again please don't be offended they are all Anda Gondu thanda pani for my fragile perception. But the pani is fresh, pure, cool and nevertheless sweetest. The rape that they do? I recommend it above all.