Authenticity

 It was an early morning date. The two had chosen to meet over a run and go for a leisurely breakfast thereafter. Since it was weekend, it only felt appropriate.  

The weather was perfect; the winter cold was slowly getting replaced by the warmth of the spring.  The run in the expansive park felt invigorating too. After matching step for step - a slow burn run - over the 7 km trail, they headed to a well-known eatery. 

“They serve authentic food here”, he beamed, as he took a deep breath of the wafting fresh aromas of steaming idlis and filter coffee. She smiled noncommittally. “I particularly love their sambar. It couldn’t get anymore South Indian than this”.  She stayed quiet for a moment, took a sip of the filter coffee she had ordered, and then said slowly. “What is authentic is defined by time. And space. What is authentic today may not be so in future, or elsewhere”. 

He wondered if she was confrontational but realised she wasn’t as he looked at her open, clear face and expression. He chose to curb his itch to argue, and instead asked, “Care to explain that? You got me intrigued there!”

“You think this is authentic sambar and coffee. But it may not have been considered so, maybe a century ago. The notions of cooking have changed with time, no? Also, coffee preparation too is different in geographies. For example, Mysore coffee and Madras coffee”. 

“But then, we do claim that this was how it has been taught to us over generations. And exclaim it’s just like how our ajji and paati used to make it!”

“We both know sambar is only a few centuries old, and it possibly is Maharashtrian in origin. Plus, there wouldn’t be sambar without the Portuguese bringing in those chillies into the country. Yet we fight how Madras version is better and more authentic than other versions!”

He chimed in, as the understanding descended upon him. “True! There wouldn’t be masala dosa either, without the Portuguese bringing in the potato! And, yet we claim that it’s authentic here, and crib with each variation that we find. Imagine saying ‘authentic Chinese’ about what you find at Mainland China!”

She ribbed a little with the quip, “the only authentic thing is gobi manchurian!” 

“Ouch! That hurts”.