SATY'S

There are moments when I quietly abandon culinary etiquette. In the Darshinis of Bengaluru—whether it is a Sagar, an A2B, an Adigas, a Rajathadri or Udupi’s, a Namoora Thindi, By2Coffee, a Taza Thindi or any of the countless breakfast sanctuaries that perfume the morning with the fragrance of hot oil and fresh filter coffee—the polished steel spoon and the obedient little fork sit beside the plate with quiet optimism. I ignore them. Instead, I plunge my fingers straight into the freshly fried vada. The first crackle does not happen on my tongue. It happens at my fingertips. That crisp, brittle crust yields with a satisfying resistance before surrendering to a warm, cloud-like softness hidden within. Somehow, the fingers experience the contradiction before the palate does. The mind receives an advance notice: this impossible thing is about to be both crunchy and tender at the same time. It feels less like eating and more like shaking hands with breakfast. Then comes the tiny philosophic...

I am no thunder’s favored son,  Nor one who chases the blazing sun;  I am no dragon-slayer   sung in halls— I'd likely trip if duty calls. I wear no crown   from heaven sent; My gold is earned, and mostly spent. I’ve never sunk to the salted deep, Where krakens wake and secrets sleep; Yet I have waded waters strange and cold, In nameless streams and mossy mold. Where others feared a dampened toe, I've gone where only whispers go. I’ve trekked where thorn and shadow meet, With dust and blisters on my feet; Not reckless-wild, nor tamely tied, But squinting   at the "Other Side." For though my waist is rather round, I’ve covered miles of rugged ground. For I have not lived at the edge of doom, Nor danced where only mad hearts bloom; Yet neither have I settled still Behind a dusty window-sill. I’ve bypassed tea and skipped my bread, To see where wilder pathways led. Not legend vast, nor timid tale, But one who chose at times to sail On smaller winds, ...