I was at the Mumbai T2 airport, feeling adventurous and happily hungry, at the same time, which usually means I order a Mysore masala dosa. There is something about airports that makes you believe you deserve better food than you eat at home.
Perhaps it is the boarding pass in your hand. It gives you courage.
So I marched to the counter and asked for my favourite.
The young man behind the stall looked at me with the confidence of a surgeon about to perform an appendix operation with a butter knife.
“Only regular masala dosa, saar,” he said. “But I will put red chilly powder. Same same.”
Same same.
That is when I knew civilisation was in danger.
A Mysore masala dosa is not a regular dosa that went to anger management class and came back sprinkled with irritation. It is an art form. It has a red chutney spread inside, made of red chillies, garlic, lentils, tamarind and sometimes onions. It is layered. It is thoughtful. It is bold. It has depth.
Red powder is what you threaten children with when they refuse vegetables. Oops delete that line.
I tried to explain that it was not the same. He smiled the way people smile when they know you are about to pay anyway. I walked away with dignity intact and hunger slightly wounded, and found another food court where the dosa had character and a proper red personality inside.
As I sat eating the real thing, I realised how often we are offered red powder instead of chutney in life.
Online shopping is the grand Mysore masala illusion. The picture shows a majestic sofa. Royal. Plush. European. What arrives looks like it was made for a doll’s drawing room. You complain. They say, “Same same, sir. Just camera angle difference.”
Or consider hotel bookings. You book a room that promises sea view. You arrive. If you lean out of the bathroom window, stand on one leg and ignore the neighbouring wall, you can see a small blue triangle in the distance. Same same.
Even in politics we are sometimes handed red powder. Big speeches. Large words. Patriotic music. But remove the noise and ask for substance, and you discover it is only seasoning without ingredients.
And relationships too can be like that. Someone says, “I care.” But when you need them, there is only dry chilli powder, no warmth, no garlic, no tamarind, no layered effort.
The Mysore masala dosa taught me a lesson at Gate 42. Do not settle for seasoning when you were promised substance. Do not accept decoration when you ordered depth.
If you ask for Mysore, insist on chutney.
Otherwise, you will spend your life sneezing politely, pretending the powder is enough…!
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