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a long time later ...

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I suddenly realized why I keep saying I don’t like puli-inji, considering that Dad makes an amazing dish of it, and considering that I usually lick my plate clean each time. Puli-inji demands complete and total fidelity, at least of me, and of a kind that eliminates the possibilities of every other taste. Take me, and no other. How can my multi-ne-farious self respond? It is rebellion, sweet-and-sour, unlike pure and simple. I want all the other food too.

Not so the self-effacing Buddhist vegetarian fare I had at NCU; it requires attention, an acknowledgement of flavours that can come only with slow, deep involvement; flavours that dress themselves up in calm pastels, recede as they appear, edge out nobody.

I love both, but have lived with only the one. You see, I too liked fidelity, and liked to have it grow on, not have it wrenched from me.
But now that puli-inji is back in my life …

attending to my moods
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On January 8th, 2008 07:35 am (UTC), teena_antony commented:
I agree with you that your dad makes the best puli-inji in the world. I close my eyes, and imagine how it tasted with the rice and rasam. mmmmmm....
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