From Childhood Aversions to Steamed Epiphanies: My Evolving Love-Hate with Idli

 #682

As I scrolled through my feed this morning, October 11, 2025, I was greeted by Google's delightful Doodle celebrating Idli – that fluffy, steamed South Indian staple that's as comforting as it is iconic. The animated sketch, complete with a stack of idlis alongside a steaming bowl of sambar, and chutney, instantly transported me back to my childhood in Karaikudi. What was meant to be a light-hearted homage to this beloved breakfast dish triggered a flood of memories, laughs, and a bit of self-reflection on how tastes – and superstitions – evolve over time.

Growing up in a bustling Chettinad household, Idli was the undisputed king of the breakfast table. Soft, pillowy rounds of fermented rice and blackgram batter, steamed to perfection and drowned in sambar and chutney. But for me? It was the enemy. As a child and even through my teenage years, I loathed Idli with a passion that bordered on the dramatic. My irrational fear stemmed from a wild childhood belief: that the blackgram (urad dal) in it could make you deaf. I'd seen it "happen" in my community – elderly relatives and neighbors in Karaikudi who struggled with hearing loss, their conversations a mix of shouts and gestures that left me frustrated and isolated during family gatherings. In my young mind, the dots connected: Idli = blackgram = deafness. No thank you. I steered clear like it was a curse.

Instead, I negotiated my way to alternatives with the stubbornness only a kid can muster. Dosa was my safe haven – thinner, crispier, and made with less of that dreaded batter per piece. My family, bless their patient souls, would fire up a separate tawa just for me, much to the chagrin of my father and the eye-rolls from aunts and uncles and cousins. "Why can't you just eat like the rest of us?" they'd tease, but I held firm. On days when even Dosa wasn't an option, I'd opt for a simple bowl of rice with curd – plain, safe, and utterly unadventurous – and call it a meal.

Fast-forward to my late-30s, about a decade into my marriage. Life had softened my edges (or maybe it was just curiosity winning out over fear). One lazy Sunday, I finally mustered the courage to take a bite of a proper Idli. And you know what? It wasn't half bad. Fluffy, tangy from the fermentation, and surprisingly light on the palate. No thunderclap of deafness followed – just a quiet realization that I'd been depriving myself of a simple joy for far too long. These days, while Idli still isn't my first choice (give me a masala Dosa any day), I don't outright reject it. I've even gotten creative: I ask my wife, Lalitha, to whip up Idly Upma by mashing leftovers with onions, green chilies, mustard seeds, and a squeeze of lime. It stretches the portions, masks the "Idli-ness," and turns it into something I actually crave.

Idly Upma. (Dish made by mashing idly)

What I love about Idli now, beyond the personal redemption arc, is its unpretentious charm. This dish isn't just food; it's a testament to South Indian ingenuity. Dating back to at least the 9th century, Idli's earliest mention appears in ancient Kannada texts as "iddalige," a fermented rice preparation that evolved into the steamed cakes we know today. Some historians trace its roots even further, possibly introduced by Indonesian traders around 800-1200 BCE, blending local rice with fermentation techniques that make it probiotic-rich and incredibly digestible. Nutritionally, it's a powerhouse: low in calories, high in protein from the urad dal, and packed with gut-friendly bacteria from the overnight fermentation – no wonder it's gone global, popping up on international flight menus ( I am told Air France was the first one) as a healthy, gluten-free option. In fact, World Idli Day on March 30 celebrates its cultural footprint, from street-side eateries in Chennai to fusion twists in cafes worldwide.

Yet, for all its wholesomeness, Idli remains a second or third pick for me – a reliable backup when Poori or Upma steals the show. Seeing Google's Doodle today, with its vibrant nod to this everyday hero, reminded me that change isn't always revolutionary. Sometimes, it's as subtle as a single bite after 30 years of avoidance. Thoughts, ideas, opinions – they all shift with time, experience, and a dash of openness. Flexibility isn't weakness; it's the spice that keeps life flavorful. So, here's to Idli: the dish that taught me to adapt, one steam at a time. What's your food story that flipped the script?

Karthik

11th October 2025

930am. (On way to Trichy, Boy Lalitha is one happy woman- Her hometown!!)..