In Memory of an Onion Uttapam — And the Purab Restaurant That Defined My Pune Days

Growing up in NDA Khadakwasla, Pune, the world around Deccan Gymkhana felt like an extended neighborhood. The nearby stores, the familiar restaurants, the thelas, and even the old movie theater were all part of a daily rhythm—especially for those of us who hopped on and off the PMT buses that stopped at the Gymkhana bus stand.

On practical-lab days, my friends and I would leave home before sunrise, catching the early 7:00–7:30 a.m. bus from NDA to Ferguson College. By the time we returned around 5:30 or 6:00 p.m., we were exhausted and running on the remnants of the single lunchbox we carried with us. Those were the moments when the real dilemma struck:

Should we run to catch the 6 p.m. bus home… or let it go and give in to the temptation of Purab Restaurant?

More often than not, Purab tugged harder at our tired hearts (and empty stomachs). Its legendary onion uttapam—thin, large, generously loaded with onions and green peas, topped with just the right amount of green chilies—was unmatched. So good, in fact, that I never bothered looking at anything else on their menu. Paired with their chikoo milkshake, it was pure comfort, a small luxury for tired students who didn’t mind missing a bus for it.

After I left Pune, I don’t think I ever truly tried uttapam again. Nothing ever came close to Purab’s version. Maybe I didn’t want to risk breaking the memory.

But today, at Mylapore, I decided to be brave. I was nervous—What if it disappoints? What if it ruins my favorite memory?

When two small uttapams arrived with coconut chutney, tomato chutney, and sambar, I could almost feel my subconscious apologizing to Purab for daring to compare. I took the first bite. It was good—really good—but it wasn’t that uttapam. It couldn’t be.

Some flavors belong not just to a kitchen, but to a time, a place, and a version of ourselves long gone.

I don’t know if Purab Restaurant still stands, but I hope it does. I hope it’s still serving that iconic onion uttapam to students rushing between buses and practicals, creating new memories just like it did for us.

In loving memory of Purab Restaurant—and the onion uttapam that will forever taste like my Pune days.

~ Dawn

Rhythm of life’s cycle

 

A smiling, blossoming seed takes the form of a plant,

And from that plant’s embrace, a new seed is born again.

From seed to plant, and plant to seed once more—

Such is the quiet, endless rhythm of life’s cycle.

Life, too, is woven with its own strange mysteries;

Not every turn is simple, not every path runs straight.

Autumn arrives in its own season,

Yet sometimes branches betray us before their time.

Who truly belongs to whom in this world?

Even from the same root, everyone grows with a different identity.

~ Dawn

A Birthday of Gratitude: Giving Back at Salinas Strawberry Farm

November 7th was my birthday — and like a child still at heart, I was eagerly waiting to celebrate with my family, which I did with joy and laughter. As the evening came to a close around 11 p.m., my thoughts shifted from cake and candles to something deeper — our next morning’s visit to Salinas Strawberry Farm to donate food and clothes to the hardworking farmers who bring fresh produce to our tables.

The plan was to drive early to San Jose, meet my friends, and head together to Salinas. We’ve been volunteering with Hands that Care, a local organization led by Hector — a kind, humble soul whose story itself is an inspiration. Having endured hardship in his childhood, Hector once prayed, “If I survive this, I will return to serve my community.” He kept that promise. Today, despite managing his own cleaning business and facing financial challenges, he continues to give — consistently and quietly. Listening to him speak about his daughters pursuing master’s degrees in medical fields filled me with hope. Stories like his remind us how privileged many of us truly are.

This initiative was organized through Vanitha Charity Organization, where a few of us friends collected food cans, rice, winter clothes, socks, and other essentials — simple items that can mean so much. I missed the trip last year, so this time, I was eager to be there in person.

I reached my friend Priya’s home around 7:15 a.m. in San Jose. Since the farmers wouldn’t be arriving until later, Hector suggested we start around 9:30 a.m. In the meantime, Priya made us a warm, delicious breakfast and tea. There’s something special about people like her — kind, grounded, and genuine. I instantly felt a connection. Thank you, Priya, for your hospitality, and to Vanitha’s President Manju Abraham and Chairperson Geeta George, whose leadership continues to inspire me to stay involved.

The 60-mile drive from San Jose to Salinas was long but filled with laughter and conversation. I got to know Dr. Manju from Minneapolis and Priya’s husband Sree, who drove us and helped carry heavy boxes of food and clothes. His quiet strength and helpful nature made our trip smooth and cheerful.

We met Hector at La Patisserie Bakery — and even though we had already eaten, the aroma of pastries was hard to resist. When Hector arrived, his smile said it all — full of gratitude and warmth. He had also coordinated with another group bringing donations that day.

Following him to the Foothill Estate Strawberry Farm, we began setting up tables, sorting cans of soups, beans, noodles, rice, tomato sauce, and other staples. As the farmers came during their breaks, we handed out supplies. What struck me most was their dignity. No one grabbed or rushed. They took only what they needed, often saying “Gracias” and encouraging us to give to others.

There was such quiet grace in their actions — humility in the face of hardship, patience amid long days under the sun. One woman held a donated winter jacket close to her chest, as if embracing warmth itself. In that moment, I realized: the true worth of that jacket wasn’t when I owned it, but when she did.

The day was hot, and I was grateful to Priya for packing hats for us. But looking around, I thought of the farmers — toiling in that same heat, day after day. It was humbling. As we talked more with Hector, we learned about the farmers’ living conditions — some relying on tents as makeshift homes through the winter. We made notes on what they needed most so that we can bring more useful items next time.

Life has a way of teaching us quietly. That day, I learned more about gratitude, patience, and compassion than any book could teach. On the drive back, my heart was full and heavy all at once.

We stopped for lunch, and by the time we reached back, Priya invited us for evening tea. We ended the day with laughter and reflection — a beautiful contrast to the silence of the fields earlier that morning.

As I write this, I can still see the faces of the farmers — their tired smiles, their eyes filled with both fatigue and resilience. These moments are etched in my heart.

Once in a while, we must pause and look around us — beyond our routines, beyond our comfort zones — to truly see the people who make our lives possible. Many around us are struggling: farmers, cleaners, those affected by layoffs, or anyone trying to make ends meet with quiet dignity.

This planet belongs to all of us, and basic human needs should never be a privilege. The disparity we see is not just economic — it’s a reminder of our shared responsibility.

My deepest gratitude to the Vanitha Charity donors and every volunteer who made this effort possible. Your support brought food, warmth, and smiles to those who deserve it most.

Sometimes, the best way to celebrate a birthday is not with gifts we receive, but with the joy we give. ~ Dawn

~ Dawn

A Literary Retreat to Remember

The end of October turned out to be a true retreat — not just for the mind, but for the soul. I had the wonderful opportunity to attend a literature festival organized by the Literary Association of North America (LANA) in Dallas, Texas. 

 

From the moment I arrived, I felt an instant sense of belonging. Strangers would walk up, introduce themselves, and ask where I was from — and within minutes, conversations flowed like we’d known each other for years. The warmth and hospitality made it feel like home away from home.

There’s something magical about being surrounded by people who share your passion for words. Among like-minded souls, there’s no need for masks or pretensions. You simply show up as you are — and you’re accepted, appreciated, and celebrated for it.

“A word after a word after a word is power.” — Margaret Atwood

Over two days, I immersed myself in a world of writers, poets, and readers, each sharing their journeys, inspirations, and expectations from literature. The discussions were thought-provoking, touching upon not just the beauty of language but also the social and political currents that literature often stirs.

The festival featured several dynamic and eloquent speakers whose energy and authenticity made every session memorable.

Shaji Abraham

Dr. MV Pillai

I was deeply honored to be invited to recite my poem and speak about Hindi and Marathi literature — a topic close to my heart. The audience’s encouragement and appreciation reignited my creative spark and reminded me why I write.

“We read to know we are not alone.” — C.S. Lewis

The festival itself was beautifully organized. Behind the scenes, the volunteers worked tirelessly to ensure every participant felt welcomed and valued. Their dedication was visible in every detail — from smooth logistics to the personal touches that made each attendee feel special. Of course, events like this need sponsors, but it was the heart and hard work of the volunteers that truly made it shine.

Beyond the literary sessions, there were moments of joy — dance, music, and drama that brought people together in laughter and celebration. And oh, the food! Each meal was thoughtfully prepared and delicious — even now, as I think back, I can still taste those comforting flavors and relive those satisfying moments.

It wasn’t just a festival; it was an experience — one that nourished creativity, connection, and community. I came back from Dallas feeling inspired, grateful, and ready to write more.

Family

Experiences like these remind me that literature is not just about words — it’s about connection, empathy, and shared humanity. Whether through poetry, prose, or conversation, storytelling continues to bridge cultures and generations. I came back feeling inspired, grateful, and reminded of the simple truth that creativity thrives best in community.

“Stories are the communal currency of humanity.” — Tahir Shah

~ Dawn

The World I Grew Up In

 

I long for the India of my childhood—

Where faith was only faith, seen through secular eyes,

Where no one asked the last name of a friend in play,

Where Diwali sweets were shared, and from the same hands

came bowls of sevaiyaan in Eid delight—

How free was that India when childhood was mine!

I long for the India of my childhood—

Where patience to listen was still a gift,

Where minds differed but we dined from one plate,

And if words stung, we laughed the hurt away,

How mindful, how gentle, was that India of youth.

I long for the India of my childhood—

Where many tongues wove one conversation of smiles,

Where a gesture alone carried honor and respect,

Where no one feared the other—only reverence reigned,

How tolerant was that India of innocence.

I ache for the India of my childhood—

Where theft was seen through the lens of need,

Where violence gave way to compassion’s hand,

Where Usha and Farzana studied and played as one,

How human, how luminous, was that India of my youth.

Yes, I ache for the India of my childhood.

~ Dawn

Art, Literature & Rhythm: ALF 3.0 Lights Up Chicago

Chicago’s literary crowd gathered for a full day of words, music, and movement as the Art Literature Fest (ALF) 3.0, presented by the American Literature Association (ALA), unfolded into a celebration of creativity.

After the 9:30 a.m. inauguration, the festival jumped straight into stimulating literature sessions.

S. Hareesh opened with a talk in Malayalam that explored the soul of storytelling.

Dr. Manu S. Pillai followed, weaving English and Malayalam to examine how memory shapes our understanding of history.

M. Swaraj closed the morning with an engaging look at the History of the Indian Constitution in Malayalam.

The midday lunch break wasn’t just about food—it was a lively mix of book signings, networking, and casual conversations, where visiting and local authors mingled with readers. A special book release by Chicago and other State based writers highlighted the city’s own literary heartbeat, while young winners of ALA’s writing competitions were celebrated for their fresh voices and bright ideas.  A short “Book on Stage” segment rounded out the literature track.

 Post-lunch, S. Hareesh and M. Swaraj sat down for an intimate fireside chat. Then Dr. Sreevalsan J. Menon and Dr. Rachitha Ravi captivated the audience with Music & Mudras, a seamless dialogue of melody and movement. 

The evening shifted into pure performance. Dr. Rachitha Ravi returned with a spellbinding dance on Karn Mrityunjaya (“The Death Conqueror”) by Shivaji Sawant book, followed by AMMA – Poetry in Motion, each piece marrying tradition with contemporary flair. Finally, Dr. Sreevalsan J. Menon and team delivered a soul-stirring live concert, sending everyone home humming.

The ALA program has a special space in my heart for their exclusive style of planning and curating the festival agenda. Everything was organized so smoothly, without disruption or confusion, that participants could simply immerse themselves in the experience. Kudos to the volunteers, who worked wholeheartedly behind the scenes—not seeking the spotlight but ensuring the event’s success. They function like a family, celebrating the collective achievement of the festival rather than individual recognition, and that spirit of humility is what makes ALA truly remarkable.

What made ALF 3.0 truly memorable was its spirit of connection. Acclaimed authors and performers proved warm and approachable, while festivalgoers formed new friendships across art, literature, and music—a vibrant bouquet of creative minds.

From insightful panels to transcendent performances, ALF 3.0 was not just a festival but an experience—a shining example of how stories, rhythm, and community can light up a Chicago weekend.

“Literature, music, and art are not just performances; they are bridges that connect hearts, histories, and hopes.”

~ Dawn

Finding Joy in Rhythm, Carrying Amma in Spirit

 

This year began on a difficult note with the loss of our Amma, my mother-in-law, in October. Each of us grieved in our own way, and her absence created a deep void. She had always been present in our lives—either visiting us in person or connecting with us over video calls—and that constant presence is what we miss the most.

In time, I slowly started focusing on healing. Playing the Chenda, making new friends who now feel like family, and being part of our group Bay Melam brought me strength. As my Arangettam approached, our daily in-person Chenda practice camp with our beloved Guru, Mela Kalaratnam Kalamandalam Shivdas Aashaan, began in full swing. His direct, honest feedback kept us sharp and attentive to the finer details—the posture of the hands, the strength of each beat, and most importantly, the joy of dancing with the rhythm as we play.

I never set out with the dream of performing an Arangettam; my only goal was to learn. But this journey gave me the confidence to step onto a stage and perform at events. With Bay Melam (our band name), I had the honor of performing in Manteca for the Onam celebration and later in Fremont at the Vellankanni festival. Through it all, my family’s support has been unwavering. It’s not just me who finds joy in playing the Chenda—my family feels happiness in watching me play with such passion.

I carry immense gratitude for the universe aligning everything to make this possible. If Amma were still with us, she would have proudly shared this with the entire world. I miss her deeply—words will never be enough to capture that feeling.

Today, as a family, we chose to celebrate Onam together—dressing up, sitting down for Sadya, and simply enjoying each other’s company. After such an eventful month, this quiet day of food, laughter, and togetherness feels truly blissful. Happy Onam to all !!!

~ Dawn