Fluffy Whites
The Idli Poem
One urad dal, three parboiled rice
One spoon of salt, no sugar or spice
Soak the dal and the rice separate
For five hours let them hibernate
Grind the urad dal and grind the rice
Amalgamate them both slow and nice
The spoonful of salt, mix it well in
Leave it be from evenin’ to mornin’
Leave it be from evenin’ to mornin’
While you’re asleep, the batter’s workin’
Its bounden duty, never shirkin’
Come the morn, see how it has risen
Like flood waters breakin’ their prison*
Small handfuls of batter in a mould
Give them the steamer treatment of old
Out come fluffy white idlis, ready
Serve with sambar, chutney or podi
Reminds me of the tale of the bride
She sat in her kitchen and she cried
Her own self she began to despise
She couldn’t get the batter to rise
Till her husband walked in to enquire
What the matter was, what did transpire
She cried, "the batter didn’t grow higher"
He wondered “it needs water, or warmth, dear?”
You see, the crux of the whole matter
Is simply the fermenting batter
When it swells over like the high tide
The heart swells with happiness and pride!
-
© Shiva Kumar
27th April 2016
(*Acknowledgement:
Thanks to Rudyard Kipling for the phrase “the floods breaking their prison” from his poem An Astrologer’s Song)
