The old woman lived in a house made from clay. I never really had the opportunity to admire the interiors of the house as I was always limited to the verandah — the Indian equivalent of porch. The verandah was where Avva — the universal title of endearment for grandmothers in South India — conducted her business. It was a simple business. Avva sold Idlis and Dosas on most mornings. I remember her doing that ever since I have been a little child. Idlis and dosas — scrumptious fermented rice preparations — that always left you craving for more. Despite being a grown man, my childhood love affair with these simple delicacies never quite passed. So that morning when I woke, I forbid my mother from entering the kitchen and, on my modest scooter, drove to Avva’s humble hotel. “Idlis for 50 rupees Avva!” I announced as I arrived, still struggling to park my heavy scooter. Avva smiled in response. She was always happy to see a customer. The transaction barely felt like business. The Idlis were...
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