Growing up, there were two dosas. Dosa. Masala dosa. That was the menu. That was the universe. You chose, you ate, you went to school. The dosa did not change. People changed it. In the name of innovation.
Today there is Pizza dosa. Pav bhaji dosa. Schezwan dosa. Cheese Burst Maggi dosa. Nutella Brownie dosa, served with vanilla ice cream, in case the brownie was not enough. There is an Upma dosa, which is one breakfast hiding inside another breakfast. Then there is lemon rice dosa, or pulihora dosa. There is a Gold dosa. I do not know what is in it. I am not sure anyone does.
Then there is Chocolate dosa. Batter, butter, chocolate syrup, dry fruits, cherries. When the video went around, the internet responded the way it responds to grief.
It all makes commercial sense. A dosa costs a few rupees of rice and urad dal. Add cheese, call it fusion, triple the price. Add chocolate, call it dessert, quadruple it. Add gold leaf, call it luxury, stop printing the price. Make it complimentary for anyone walking out of a Louis Vuitton or Chanel store. The batter never objected.
Here is the good news. The dosa can carry anything. Put it on the ramp. Chocolate, cheese, noodles, bhaji, gold, another breakfast. It walks out in all of them and walks back without a wobble. It does not complain. It does not break. That is range.
Why only the dosa?
Take the vada pav. I love the vada pav. Every time I land in Mumbai, I consume two within seven minutes of landing. I have timed it. One is a snack. Two is a commitment. Three is a cry for help. Now imagine a Nutella vada pav. Go on. Picture the vada, golden, fresh out of the oil, and someone reaching for the chocolate spread. You cannot. Your brain refuses. Somewhere in Mumbai a vada pav seller has already closed his shutter in protest. The vada pav has never been asked to be anything other than a vada pav. Nobody dares.
Take the biryani. Try putting Nutella in a biryani and see how fast your family calls the police.
Take the puran poli. It is already sweet. It has already done the work. Nobody has ever stood over a puran poli and said, you know what this needs? Maggi.
Take the jalebi. It survived centuries, three empires and every diabetic in the country without once being asked to hold cheese.
Take the paratha. I looked. I looked hard. I found one chocolate paratha in the entire country. One. In one lane, in one city, and it comes with Nutella on the side, which means the paratha did not even do the work. The parathas of this land have been left in peace. The dosa has been sent to every laboratory.
Years of innovation, and every experiment was conducted on one patient. So I have decided to stop complaining and join the industry. If the dosa must carry everything, I will give it something worth carrying. Bebinca dosa. Sixteen layers of Goan dessert, folded into one crisp dosa, sold from a stall on a beach in Goa. People will pay four hundred rupees and post it. The next Shark Tank idea. I will retire by December.
Here is the thing about the dosa. It is a blank sheet of paper that happens to be crisp. The whole country has been scribbling on it for years. Chocolate, cheese, noodles, gold, somebody’s Maggi.
Someone will make a biopic and call it तवे पर दोसे की मौत. Death of the Dosa. There will be a red carpet. The dosa will walk it, crisp, sambar on the side, sign autographs on itself, and leave early. It has a breakfast event to attend at seven.