Idlis Unites, Sambar Divides — And That’s Okay

 Idlis Unites, Sambar Divides — And That’s Okay

There’s something strangely beautiful about how food can both unite and divide us. Take the idli, for instance. Ask a Kannadiga and a Tamilian, and they’ll agree on one thing: the idli is sacred. Soft, fluffy, and steaming hot, it brings them together at the breakfast table without a fight.

But then comes the sambar.

And just like that, the harmony breaks.

In Tamil Nadu, sambar is tangy, mildly spicy, and comforting — the perfect partner for idli. In Karnataka, however, sambar often leans sweeter. So when a Tamilian orders idli and sees that familiar white pillow on the plate, all is well — until the first dip into the sambar. That unexpected sweetness? It tastes like betrayal.

I’ve watched friends brood over this culinary divide. Some reluctantly eat around it. Others skip the sambar entirely and take refuge in coconut chutney, shaking their heads in quiet disappointment.

But here’s the thing — food habits run deep. They’re shaped by culture, taste preferences, local ingredients, and cooking styles passed down through generations. Every region is unique, and that uniqueness deserves respect, not rivalry.

The real spoilsport? Comparison.

We see it everywhere — in sports, in schools, in workplaces, even at home. We compare everything: sambar with sambar, spouse with spouse, India with China. The list is endless. And yet, the beauty of life doesn’t lie in sameness — it lies in diversity and adaptability.

So maybe it’s time we stopped comparing and started accepting. Not just the sambar on our plate, but the people beside us, the cultures around us, and the differences that make each one of us unique.

Because the moment we do that, we won’t just enjoy the idli and sambar more. We’ll start celebrating each other — sweet, spicy, and everything in between.

M.L.Narendra Kumar