Everyone in our place grew up eating vadas. For those who have no idea about what that is, any amount of explaining will not be sufficient to make you understand what I am talking about. For all of us in the family it was like the biriyani of all snacks. My mother was an expert in preparing those and so were all our aunts. I am not sure who made the best vadas in the family. Every time we ate one prepared by any of our family members, we used to feel that it was the best we ever tasted.
Amma used to make vadas for every silly reason. When we were very young my brother and I used to fight for the last piece, even though Amma made some for us almost everyday. It didn't really matter how much we ate. As we grew up the frequency of the preparation reduced and other than the routine quotas during weekends, she used to prepare it only if there was a special reason, like my brother scoring first rank in the class or me not causing any trouble for one entire week. Both of us tried very hard to earn the right to taunt the other. Whenever Amma made vadas to appreciate me, I used to let my brother know that every piece of vada he was eating, was earned by me. My brother for his part also never missed any chance to get one over me.
All that changed upon the death of my father. We had to relocate to Trivandrum, closer to my uncles and cousins. Amma had changed a lot by then and she became evermore serious by the day, the added responsibility of leading the house taking its toll. She didn't have the time anymore to pamper us with special dishes and both of us understood the situation we were in. Fortunately for us, our indulgence was allowed to continue and we had our beloved cousin to thank for, whom we affectionately called DB. He was our eldest cousin who was with us from the time my father was sick. He was ten years elder to us and we used to respect him for that, but there were lots of occasions when we thought of him as if he were a friend of ours. The two of us suddenly became the three of us. DB made us realise who made the best vadas. It was not Amma and neither was it any member of our family. DB worked for the Government and right in front of his office was a small hotel. We used to call it annachi hotel because the owner of the hotel was an annachi (person of a neighboring state). DB used to call him annachi anna out of respect and for us he slowly became annachi maman. Every time DB visited us he used to have a pack of vadas for us from the annachi hotel, packed in banana leaves and wrapped in news paper. Over tea we used to sit and argue if it was the banana leaves or the news paper that gave the vada the rich aroma. Annachi used to serve vadas with spicy and tangy coconut chutney which made the vada even juicier. Everytime our results would come we knew that DB and annachi's vadas would lie waiting for us.
By the time I started class twelve, DB was transferred to Kozhikode and my brother took a job in Tamil Nadu to support the family. My friends for all those years were suddenly replaced by classmates. The time for my medical course qualification had come. I didn't realise how time flew by and how priorities had changed. New friends led to new priorities. DB's party was replaced by friends party and a high score in cricket had probably replaced my scores in studies. DB had sent me the medical school application form by post and I had filled it up with great enthusiasm.
All of a sudden the results were being declared and everything I did to prepare and appear for the exams was just a blur in my memory. All the day's news papers were full of pictures of the top ranked students in the exam, budding doctors with great hopes of the future. I knew the results in advance. Amma probably knew it too and didn't hurt me further by checking the results in front of me. Time passed very slowly that day and how I wished for the nightfall to arrive and bring me some solace along.
At about 7 in the evening the gate opened and I could hear the gate creak from my room. I didn't even want to check out who the visitor was. Amma called me up to the dining room after some time. Sitting there was DB with his trademark handbag, who had come all the way from Kozhikode. On the table was a plate of annachi's vada and tea made by Amma. On the other side of the table was my brother, sipping away his tea with his eyes closed. My good old friends asked me to sit near by and offered me a plate of our favourite snack. Eating the vada I felt the comfort and normality that was missing that day till then. No one mentioned anything about the results and we were back to our normal discussions. The same vada, in the same banana leaf, wrapped in the same newspaper, the same tea, the same gang and everything became so normal in an instant.
Hidden in DB's handbag I accidentally got glimpse the day's newspaper crumpled and torn, not worthy even to wrap the vada I was eating. An instant is all it took. Annachi's vada had never tasted that bad.
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