My memory of descending the airstair in Bangalore circa early 2000’s is still vivid. Dad had been transferred here, and I was moving in with my parents after a long stint at boarding school. It was the first time we were all to live together – my brother and I, all grown up, but barely. In retrospect, the thought of living with your parents as an almost-adult was terrifying – boarding school will do that to you – but Bangalore made it seem easy.
I remember reading up on the city as much as I could, and finding some relief in the fact that it was known as the pub capital of India (of course I wasn’t allowed a drink then but I had already imagined the 50 million ways I would break this parental rule and have the time of my life listening to Pink Floyd over vodkas — a ritual I’ve come to learn, just hits different in this city) 😉
I remember landing at the old airport (which definitely wasn’t the modern, gigantic structure we’re familiar with today), and being greeted with a red rose, as were my fellow passengers, all sponsored by Kid's Kemp. To my north Indian upbringing, this seemed like the most beautiful thing – strangers being handed out red roses to welcome them into the city! – poetically, you could think of it as the beginning of a love affair.
I remember being driven straight to a darshini in Malleshwaram, no detours, and having the most scrumptious south Indian meal (still no alcohol, but I was sold). We went home in my dad’s new Ambassador “Nova” – the latest model with bucket seats, and so much more comfortable than the previous ones government officials were given. Mallesh, my dad’s driver, had impeccable manners, and spoke great English. I was amazed. ‘Memsahib’ was replaced by madam, and following orders blindly like the drivers I was used to, was replaced with respectful reasoning. It was a far cry from what I was used to in the north.
I remember the next morning when the home staff arrived in their colourful sarees, flowers in their hair, watching them make a rangoli, while sipping on filter coffee that I was already in love with. The weather was amazing, everyone spoke well even though they weren't well-versed with Hindi or English, and they smiled ever better! And there was so much colour! — a glorious variety of flowers was part of one’s everyday life. So many amazing smells from surrounding bakeries and busy Udupis! Everything opened early, and everything was so inexpensive (I remember eating Adiga’s rava idlis everyday for years and it didn’t cost more than Rs. 40 along with the chutney and pallya).There was an incredible warmth to the city that as much as I try, I don’t think my description is doing justice to — life just felt fresh.
I remember feeling welcome, and feeling at home immediately. I made friends easily; maybe because there was less judgment, more inclusiveness, and focus on who you were as an individual. I felt a love for the diversity of this country like I never had before.
I’ve had some of the funnest times immersed in the city — its culture, character, and cuisine — and I call it home. I’m still in love with the weather, the people, the warmth, the authenticity, the refreshing lack of one upmanship, and a certain cool-ness that comes from education and exposure — not to forget, the absence of aggression and intensity (which is something I can’t live with, I have come to realise).
When I think of the part of the country I come from — and don’t get me wrong, I love it — I think of a relationship that is intense, aggressive and a bit mad; one that keeps you high, but isn’t sustainable — it lacks the stability, the quietness, the acceptance (what you’d call “thehrav” in Hindi) — that I tend to feel down south. It’s a place I can be me, live at my own pace, and find like-minded people to do it with.
They say a sign of loving a place is when you truly love its food, and I think I kind of agree. The first thing I crave when I travel out of Bangalore is a crunchy hot dosa. Don’t kill me, but I’ve become that person who prefers a south Indian home cooked biryani over any Mughal/Lucknow biryanis. I pick all the chutneys and coconut gravies over butter chicken, and my kebab preference is also quite south Indian in taste. I love sambhar rice with papad as much as I do dal bhaat and aloo bhujiya from my hometown of Bihar… I think you get the picture.
And that’s why it only felt right to share this Andhra-style chilli chicken recipe with you, which is also a huge hit with my family back home and friends in the north. Apologies in advance to all the lovely people from Andhra reading this — it might not be the best or the most authentic, but I promise it’s just as easy, memorable, and amazinggg with a crunchy ghee roast dosa.
PS : The green chillies I use are quite tame, but don’t shy away from using generous quantities if you like your food spicy. You can also tone it down as per your taste.
The Recipe
Grind the garlic, ginger, green chillies and coriander together.
Heat some ghee in a deep pan, add the ground paste to it, and cook for 2 minutes.
Then, toss the chopped green chillies to the paste and saute for another 5-7 minutes.
Add washed and cleaned chicken to the pan, and let it cook until tender, adding small amounts of water to avoid sticking to the pan.
Once the chicken is properly cooked, add soy sauce, and squeeze the lemon in. Cook for another 3-5 minutes, before adding the cornflour mixed with water to thicken the gravy. Finally, two tablespoons of brown sugar go in, to be cooked for another 2 minutes.
Ta-da, you’re done! Enjoy with crispy hot dosas and send a big kiss to south India <3
