Day off on Sunday, made kori rotti for my roommates and put on an old Tulu film none of them understood. They came for the food and stayed to cry at the story anyway. That, my friends, is cinema.

Every Ugadi I ride back home down the ghats to the coast, windows down, and the smell of the sea hits you before you even see it. No five-star trip on earth beats that one turn near the water.

Started filming my amma's old Mangalorean recipes on my cracked phone so they don't die with her generation. The fish curry got 40 views. To me, that's 40 kitchens I might have saved.

Kitchen life is 12 hours on my feet, burns on both arms, and a chef who thinks shouting is a seasoning. But when a table sends back an empty plate and a smile, I forget every bit of it.

Grew up in Mangalore, cook in a Bengaluru restaurant now, and I'll still fight anyone who says neer dosa with chicken ghee roast isn't peak human civilization. Come by, I'll just feed you and prove it.