Though I was born and raised in Kerala and did my engineering there, I never quite thought of myself as a Malayali. After graduation, I left home—moved across cities, states, and eventually, borders. I wore my cosmopolitanism like a badge of honour.
As a foodie, I adapted easily. I found comfort in the crisp dosas of Saravana Bhavan, the no-nonsense meals of Bangalore’s Sagars, the fire of Andhra spice, the warmth of Punjabi tandoors, and the sweetness of Rajasthani and Bengali fare. Every region gave me something to love. I thought I had outgrown “home food.”
Until this morning.
I am in Bur Dubai these days—a part of the city that hums with the comfort of the familiar. The streets are lined with Indian eateries and grocery stores, the air rich with the scent of spices and nostalgia. It’s the kind of place where languages mingle, and memories hide in the corners.
On a morning walk, I stumbled upon a small restaurant tucked behind BurJuman, across from Apsara Supermarket. It was called Taste of the Town. I noticed a few Malayali waiters chatting by the entrance, and out of curiosity, stepped inside. When I asked for the menu, the waiter reeled off a list that felt like a roll call from home: porotta with egg curry, kadala curry, dosa, poori baji, appam with stew…
I ordered appam and aloo baji. It arrived quickly—hot, fragrant, unmistakably Kerala. The chutney carried the scent of coconut oil and red chillies; the baji, spiced just like I remembered. With the first bite, something shifted. It wasn’t just food—it was memory. The taste brought back mornings before exams, temple visits, carefree meals with friends. For a few moments, I wasn’t in Dubai—I was back home in Kerala.
The food reminded me that, no matter wherever I go or whatever I do, I am still a Malayali and will remain one.
Until this morning.
I am in Bur Dubai these days—a part of the city that hums with the comfort of the familiar. The streets are lined with Indian eateries and grocery stores, the air rich with the scent of spices and nostalgia. It’s the kind of place where languages mingle, and memories hide in the corners.
On a morning walk, I stumbled upon a small restaurant tucked behind BurJuman, across from Apsara Supermarket. It was called Taste of the Town. I noticed a few Malayali waiters chatting by the entrance, and out of curiosity, stepped inside. When I asked for the menu, the waiter reeled off a list that felt like a roll call from home: porotta with egg curry, kadala curry, dosa, poori baji, appam with stew…
I ordered appam and aloo baji. It arrived quickly—hot, fragrant, unmistakably Kerala. The chutney carried the scent of coconut oil and red chillies; the baji, spiced just like I remembered. With the first bite, something shifted. It wasn’t just food—it was memory. The taste brought back mornings before exams, temple visits, carefree meals with friends. For a few moments, I wasn’t in Dubai—I was back home in Kerala.
The food reminded me that, no matter wherever I go or whatever I do, I am still a Malayali and will remain one.
2 comments:
Hi, nicely written..
You think more of where you belong when you're in a place where you dont belong much ;)
Wow!!. At least in Dubai, you are more of an Indian than when you are in India. There are many more vegetarian restaurants here than you can see in Bangalore, I think.
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