about 2km from our place in trivandrum is paragon restaurant, fabled in kerala for its leghorn chicken biriyani. but when our auto driver ullas, ibrahimdi, and i arrive at the lane that leads to the restaurant, it is crammed with vehicles. countless cars, SUVs (yes even commie kerala has them) and motorbikes have formed long metallic tentacles on either side of the entrance.

‘you canNOAT get in,’ ullas says. ‘your order will take half hour or one hour even.’

ibrahimdi becomes moody but ullas is quick to interject:

‘don’t worry, kokko, we are near another good biriyani place.’

ullas calls ibrahimdi kokko now, and in the weeks we’ve been here he’s started to feel like family.

he takes us to a shaded place nearby, a towering complex whose bottom floors are taken up by ‘aasife biriyani.’

‘aasif biriyani, very good, just try brothers,’ says ullas. the ‘e’ in aasife is silent, at least in ullas’s speech.

‘do you want some?’ i ask him.

‘no need for me,’ he says. ‘i don’t eat biriyani.’

‘then how come he knows all the spots?’ i ask ibrahimdi as we climb the stairs to the restaurant.

‘he’s an auto driver, husenbe, he will know obviously dho,’ responds my brother. huh. all right, no need for the attitude.

it is very crowded inside but we manage to find a booth at the back. ibrahimdi looks pleased. of course, it’s a good sign if there are lots of brownskinned patrons. we order a mutton biriyani for my brother and a chicken biriyani for me, as i’m minding my intake of red meat.

‘will we have time to make my appointment?’ asks ibrahimdi nervously, rubbing his head. he tends to do that when he’s anxious. just like me when i was his age.

‘yes, it’s not even quarter past two,’ i tell him.

i get a call from ullas.

‘ullas! what’s up?’

‘husenbe, you call me when you finish ok? i wait outside.’

he calls me husenbe, like my brother. and you can hear the smile in his voice.

‘why is ullas so fucking happy, kokko?’ i ask.

‘i think he’s just putting on a brave face,’ replies my brother. ‘plus he gets a lot of money from us.’

‘it’s not a lot,’ i say.

‘it is for india,’ he replies and before he can get grumpier, our server brings in the food in twin pots of rice topped with a boiled egg each.

‘it’s so good here,’ says my bro, digging into his mutton. ‘you know mutton biriyani is a kerala fave.’

‘where’d you see that?’

‘just on the internet.’

i have some chicken with my rice and it just about knocks me over. it’s great. aasife isn’t one for the birds, clearly.
it’s 600 rupees for the lot, which is just over 100MVR by today’s exchange rate. i would’ve easily paid triple for biriyani this good.

‘you enjoy?’ asks ullas while ibrahimdi smokes his cigarette.

‘yes ullas,’ i tell him and hop in. ibrahimdi throws his butt on the ground and crushes it casually with his foot. the boy has started smoking less now in preparation for our outing next week.

on the way back, ullas plays a song by the vengaboys over the auto’s considerably loud speakers.

‘what IS that ullas?’ asks my brother.

‘you like?’ beams ullas, turning his head half way. ‘it’s very good song, very good. very happy making.’

‘you’re too young to recall this song kokko,’ i tell ibrahimdi.

‘i know this song, husenbe, they played it a LOT when i was a kid,’ he tells me, a little annoyed.

‘then let’s sing the chorus together,’ i say.

and to my surprise, he does. and together, with our keralan friend we brighten up the journey home with this most annoying track from the 90s.