This post is almost entirely about what the title describes. Moving beyond the excuses of the past, I’ve seen a lot of our, ‘proverbs’ or ‘sayings’ enacted in real life around me. Don’t bite off more than you can chew being one of them. I picked an additional course at school and it is coming back to bite me in a big way, in my unmentionables. When in Rome, be a Roman being another one. I now pronounce my name to Americans, the way Americans say it; saves some time in the initial phase where they try to get it right.
Let’s get on with it then. The title is essentially a question. What is life without molagapodi?
The short answer, it’s depressing.
I’ll tell you why in a minute; but we need some clarity on what molagapodi is. Even in the limited geographic area of my home state, this word has different meanings. Google translate calls it ‘Chilly Powder’ and that is fair. But molagapodi is a more Tambhram word that it is a Tamil word; it is part of the staple diet that primarily consist of the idly or the dosa.
Now the why. I grew up in a household where both parents were working. This means that you kinda start seeing a pattern in terms of food. There is batter for dosa throughout the week and it is easy to make. Now, if you, like me, have no preference towards fancy sides for your dosa, molagapodi will come through for you, every time all the time. My love for molagapodi is now the stuff of legend in my family and when I visit them, they know for a fact that pleasing me is as easy as it gets.
Things change with time all the time. People come, people go. Things get old, new things take their place. Memories fade away, the good ones stay back. Some you keep under wraps, but the point is, change happens and it comes for all of us. I moved to a different country about six months ago. I now call football, ‘soccer’ which is a crime. I already told you how I say my name. I can now drive on the right side of the road without it getting weird that it is the opposite side of what I am used to driving. I have adjusted to cooking my own food; which is, coincidentally my mother’s biggest concern.
After all this, something that I cannot get away from is molagapodi. At this point, I know you think that I’m romanticizing something waaaaay too much and you’d be right. I am. That’s the point of media or art or whatever you want to call it.
This is not a metaphorical story of a boy who is losing the grip on his past. This is not a story of a boy who wonders how good the past used to be.
This is very simply, the story of the boy who misses his molagapodi.