Spice of life? Not for me

Consuming even a tiny flake of chilli has me prancing around like a horse on Ecstasy. I sweat profusely, tears roll down my face, my throat and stomach burn and I abuse uncontrollably, mostly in Hindi but at times in as many as four languages. It’s a problem I’ve developed only in the last four years after my rather robust system was damaged with sustained doses of chillies Andhra, Kashmiri, Goan, Konkani, and even Assamese at times.

Chillies in Indian, chillies in Chinese and chillies in Italian too, even in meant-to-be-bland pasta Alfredo… I have had quite my fill. Literally.

It’s not all my fault. Cooking is not much of an option. I work odd hours. Till a few months back, I held three jobs and was working on an exhausting research project. The schedule isn’t any better at this point. I live alone; actually with flatmates who have no inclination or skills to cook.

I work in a brand new, already leaking glass tower shadowing old chawls in the heart of Mumbai.

New-age white collared equivalent of mill workers crowd into elevators at lunch and tea, holding similar-looking Tupperware tiffins, and head to the common dining halls. And less fortunate workers like me make a beeline for the many food stalls on the opposite side of the street.

A few months ago, I decided to have my first meal at one of the ‘food courts’ in the building. The choice was between fiery Indian Chinese, spicy Indian gravies and Italian pasta. I, of course, chose the pasta in white sauce, the processed cheese version of the Alfredo, naively assuming that I would be eating boiled Penne, vegetables and chicken doused in a milk and cheese gravy.

What came my way, however, is what I politely call pasta ki sabzi – pasta served up with soggy vegetables, chicken, grated cheese and a green chilli tadka!

The other options in the building are Starbucks, unaffordable on an everyday basis, and a chain that serves packaged meals spicy Indian gravies served on a bed of rice and a large dollop of fiery green chilli chutney.

Venturing out on the street proved even more dangerous, the humble alu bhajia, the least spicy of all Mumbai street foods, is kept on a bed of fried chillies, the medu vadas has large amounts of finely chopped green chillies. No respite for me at the ‘non-Indian’ joints either, On offer there are Manchurian balls and fried noodles swimming in a scary red ‘Schezwan’ sauce, rolls with chilli cheese, egg cheese and so on… all made with an orange sauce made with chilli paste and a heavy garnish of chopped green chillies.

I know what you’re thinking. What about the ubiquitous home food delivery services? I tried. A couple of months into the job, I chanced upon tiffin delivery options that people in office said served delicious and affordable food. I called, paid in advance for a week-long trial and for the next five days swallowed my meals with the help of a rather large bottle of water.

I also put my monthly budget aside when I chanced upon a new eatery that serves pastas, burgers, risottos and sandwiches. But the chef one fine day decided to add a heavy dose of chilli flakes to my pesto pasta. The next time, I asked him not to but he wasn’t really listening. Then the seafood risotto came with chilli flakes and the creamy prawn bake dish met the same fate… you get the drift.

I stopped stepping into mass coffee shops like Café Coffee Day when they decided to slyly add chilli flakes in their smoked chicken and chicken mayo sandwiches. The doughy, Dominos pizza is never really an appetising meal option but when I do have to order from the chain I stay away from their ‘oregano seasoning’ that has a generous dose of powdered chilli and pepper.

With the increasing spice level of the Zinger burger, KFC was off the list, next up was Kareem’s that decided to add a rough paste of white seeds of green chillies in malai chicken kebabs. My beloved Kepchaki momo stall at Carter road also lost the plot and started adding green chillies to the pork and chicken filling. I also gave up on the restaurants and stalls selling succulent kebabs at Mahim and Nagpada. A “mild chicken” dish at Basillico in Bandra less than two weeks ago left even the spice eating junta at my table teary-eyed.

I’ve placed takeaway orders requesting them to not add chilli to the food but to little avail. I’ve even tried placing orders saying that it’s for an ill person or for a two year-old, but that hasn’t worked either.

It’s as if the government has passed a rule that restaurants have to add chilli to the food or lose their licences. A renowned restaurateur during an informal chat recently admitted to me: “It’s very difficult for restaurants to dish out authentic and delicate dishes and survive. Even a restaurant like Wasabi discreetly places chilli flakes alongside sushi. What does one do?”

Anybody out there who would like to be part of People’s Union against Chilli Liberties?

I’ve placed takeaway orders at restaurants requesting them to not add chilli to the food but to little avail. I’ve even tried placing orders saying that it’s for an ill person or for a two year-old, but that hasn’t worked either.