THE QUEST FOR BIRYANI

The sun was shimmering today after last night’s heavy downpour. Though the routine alarm (my mom) sang “Suprabatham” earlier this morning, I kept tossing and turning on my bed and my lazy ass didn't want to leave the bed. A gentle breeze from nowhere entered the room through the window and tickled my body and twiddled my hair. It was refreshing and after many months, I thought of going for a ride on my bike. I jumped from my bed, stretched my body and decided to wake up the camouflaged beast sleeping in the parking lot - my RX 100. Cloaked in dust, she badly needed a good bath. While cleaning my bike, the aroma of biryani from the neighbourhood captivated my senses. I glimpsed at my watch and the time was a quarter past twelve. I rushed to my apartment for a quick change of clothes. I fetched the necessary things and returned to the parking lot. It was then I realised that I forgot to take the bike key. I dialled my mom and asked her to throw the bike key from the balcony. She yelled at me for being absentminded and finally agreed to throw it from the balcony. Like a fielder in the cover region, I took a sharp catch and started my biryani quest.

The city was slowly adapting to the new normal. Witnessing the bustling roads of the Chennai city after months, gave me goosebumps. It was then I noticed that the petrol indicator was slowly marching towards the reserve symbol. Luckily, the bike stopped in front of a petrol bunk. I tip-toed it to the refilling person and asked him to refill for Rs 200 and gave him my debit card. He swiped the card whilst refilling the petrol. “Card expired” indicated on the POS machine. It startled me for a moment. I snatched it from him with nervousness and double checked the expiry date. The card had expired a week ago. I frisked my body and fetched my wallet to find some cash. I found nothing but a single Rs 500 rupee note. Without thinking further, I handed it over to him and got the balance and resumed my journey.

Traffic jams are quite common in Chennai. I got stuck in one such traffic jam and it gave me some time to think over my destination for lunch. Whilst pondering, a heap of suggestions piled on my mind and each one started battling with one another. Finally, the traffic was settled after half an hour and “Yaa Mohideen” in Pallavaram battled against all the odds and emerged victorious.

When I reached my destination, the time was ten past one and I saw a queue which extended to not less than a mile were waiting to taste the famous biryani. After waiting for almost an hour, I was finally at the counter and to my shock the dining was closed due to COVID-19. The aroma of mutton biryani and the tuk tuk sound from the drum excited me. But the price list for take away plummeted my excitement and daunted me. With the cash I had, I was left with no option except to buy Chicken Biryani. I always preferred mutton biryani to chicken biryani. Despite a mild disappointment, but with the sense of accomplishment, I bought it and started the round trip to my home.

We lived in a gated community of apartments and I found no one at the gates to open them when I returned. Whilst fiddling with my hair and waiting for the watchman, someone patted on my shoulder. I saw an old man with ragged clothes standing before me. I presumed him to be a beggar and shooed him away. Within a few steps, he collapsed in the middle of the road. Seeing him collapse, I rushed towards him for help. Suddenly, a mob gathered around him quickly and the watchman for whom I was waiting for had a water bottle in his hand. He splashed it at the old man’s face. After a few minutes, the old man regained his consciousness and confessed that he was starving for 3 days. Without much thinking, I took the biryani parcel from my bike and gave it to him. I also instructed the watchman to provide him a bottle of water. Although I was disappointed with giving up the hard-earned biryani, it didn’t last long when I saw the happiness in the poor old man’s tearful eyes when he got the food after days. I felt elated and returned home.

I fell as a log of wood on the couch when I returned home. My mom inquired about my absence and also asked me whether I had my lunch. When I responded negatively, she asked me to get refreshed and wait at the dining table. As I was waiting for her at the dining table, she brought a plate full of mutton biryani from the kitchen and placed it before me. I was taken aback at the sight of biryani and I started shooting her an array of questions. “We don’t make biryani on a weekday, do we?” “Did dad buy it?” “Who gave it?”

The answer she gave shook me further.

“Yasmin came to our house an hour ago. She gave a small bucket of Mutton Biryani as it is Bakrid today.” she answered.

It was then I remembered that our neighbours were Muslims and that’s why they prepared biryani today.

“Why didn’t you call me?” I asked naively.

“We both tried many times to get you on the phone. But all went in vain. She was waiting for you for a long time and just left a few minutes ago.” my mom retorted.

Immediately, I took my phone and found 12 missed calls notifications . I realised that the phone was in “do not disturb” mode since last night. I changed it to normal mode then.

I swore to my mom that I’ll call Yasmin after lunch.

The thought of going to taste biryani lifted my spirits and made me zestful. When I touched the rice, the heat emitted it elated my mood. The aroma of mutton biryani made me drool. Like “Kaithi” Karthi, I took my first bite - a big bite. I succumbed to its opulence flavour and its impeccable taste. As I was going for another big bite, the doorbell rang. I presumed that it was my Dad.

Mom went to open the door. She found a postman was standing before her enquiring about me. He had a letter for me from the bank. The bank had sent me a new debit card since the old one expired a few days ago. As it was from the bank, he insisted my mom that I should sign the acknowledgement. I got up from the dining table to sign it.

It was then I received a message from Yasmin which read: “Sharing is caring. Caring is love. I know you love biryani more than me, but do remember that I love you more than that.”

It was a sweet gesture from her and I felt the warmth of her love in the text.

But I couldn’t reply to her immediately because the postman was waiting for my signature. I went to him, signed the acknowledgement and got the card from him. When the postman was about to leave, an idea emerged in my mind and I requested him to wait for a minute. I went inside the kitchen and returned to him with a box of biryani. I gave it to him as a token of respect and love. He accepted it and thanked me. We exchanged smiles and parted ways.

As soon as he left, I replied a heart emoji to Yasmin’s message and dialled her number with loads of love.