Besides the diety in Kanchipuram's Lord Varadaraja temple, there is another attraction: A special type of huge cylindrical ghee idlis, weighing about a kilogram each, sold as prasadam. This Kanchipuram idli is rightly called the king of idlis. It is so tasty, it does not need the support of chutney or sambar. When we visited the temple recently, the five of us bought two of these big idlis and enjoyed eating them, squatting on a lower step of the temple tank. We did not mind sharing chunks of our prized delicacy with schools of fish that swirled and swirled hungrily in the water below.
We South Indians carry this one piece of heritage, our idlis and our love for it, wherever we go. It's no breakfast that has no idlis. A plate of them soaked in hot sambar is the best way to break the fast, if you ask me. Much as we love the white fluff, we also are generous when it comes to sharing them with others.
More than fifty years ago, my friend and I undertook a bicycle trip to Sriperumbudur, the town of Ramanujar, the proponent of Srivaishnavism. We stopped on the way at a roadside open-air idli shop run by an old woman, idli paati (grandma), under an old banyan tree. Short of money, we took two idlis each, and were embarrassed when idli paatti pressed us to have more. The wise old woman understood our plight, and heaped four more idlis on each of our banana leaves. "Don't worry about money, eat as many as you like. You are like my own grandchildren," she said as she bathed our idlis with ladles of hot sambar and chutney. She at once became dearer to us than our own grandmothers.
Here's another idli anecdote from the BC era (Before Covid). Waiting for my flight in the Delhi airport, I opened a packet of homemade, ghee-coated idlis sprinkled with dal-and-chilly powder, molagaipudi, when a curious foreigner approached me, captivated by the idlis. I held out the just-opened packet and invited him to take a bite. I was only too glad and proud to share them with a foreigner. He took the first one gingerly, but was quick to finish off two more, leaving me only a couple. He offered me a packet of biscuits in return before leaving.
The humble idli once turned a foe into a friend. One of my higher officials when I was in service, a Sikh, did not particularly like me and was always critical of me. To put an end to the strain in our relationship, all I had to do was invite him home for a breakfast of idlis and vadas. After a dozen idlis and three crisp vadas that Sunday morning, he was no longer the stiff Sikh.