The Day a Mysore Bajji Gave Me a Nose Ring

People often ask me about my nose ring. Some think I've had it since childhood, some ask if it hurt, and a few simply say it suits my face. What nobody expects is for me to begin the story with... a Mysore bajji.

Trust me. It'll all make sense by the end.

Now, nothing can ever replace masala dosa in my life. That's my forever favorite breakfast. But if you ask me to pick one deep-fried breakfast, it's Mysore bajji without thinking twice. Poori comes next. Vada? We've never really been friends. 😄

The funny part is, Mysore bajji wasn't something Amma made often. At home it was mostly idli, dosa, upma or pongal, and if something was deep fried, it was almost always poori. Maybe that's exactly why Mysore bajji felt so special whenever I got to eat it outside.

During my engineering days, I used to visit one of my closest friends from intermediate (classes 11, 12) quite often. We still meet today, which makes me really happy. Near her house was a tiny roadside bandi run by an elderly lady. I don't remember if it's still there, but I can picture her so clearly even now—sitting beside a little kerosene stove with a huge black kadai full of bubbling oil, patiently frying Mysore bajjis, onion bajjis, mirchi bajjis and pakodas.

Every plate came with a tomato chutney that deserves an entire blog post of its own. But let's not get distracted today.

Here's the confession.

You might judge me a little.

The Mysore bajjis were... not always fully cooked inside.

Or maybe they actually were.

Maybe I was just too impatient to wait for them to finish frying properly.

Looking back now, I honestly think the poor auntie wasn't the problem. The moment she dropped a fresh batch into the plate, I'd pick one up immediately because I couldn't wait another minute. The tomato chutney was so unbelievably good that I would've happily eaten almost anything with it. So yes, I've officially stopped blaming the auntie after all these years.

Now, where exactly does the nose ring come into this story?

Well... around the same time, there was another thing I couldn't stop noticing.

One of my engineering friends had the prettiest little diamond nose stud. It wasn't flashy or oversized. It was tiny, elegant and somehow suited her perfectly. But she wasn't the only one. One of my closest friends from intermediate (same girl mentioned above) had one too. My mother wore one as well. Come to think of it, I seem to have been surrounded by nose-ring people my whole life.

Nobody ever told me I should get one. Nobody forced me either. I just quietly admired them. The only person who openly loved nose rings was my father. He always wished that either my sister or I would get one someday. My sister never wanted one, and honestly, neither did I... or at least that's what I thought.

One weekend, I went to meet my intermediate friend. Before we headed to our favorite bajji bandi, I noticed she had one of those chamki bindi packets. Neither of us usually wore anything fancy—we were both tiny-bindi kind of girls—but for some random reason, I picked up one little shiny bindi and stuck it on my nose.

The moment I looked into the mirror, I froze.

For the first time, I could actually imagine myself with a nose ring.

I turned to my friend and said, "I want to get my nose pierced."

She looked at me like I'd completely lost my mind.

She patiently tried convincing me. "At least tell your parents first. And let's eat the bajjis before we do anything."

But I had my own logic.

If I ate first, I'd lose whatever little courage I had gathered. I was already terrified. Needles for injections? Fine. Someone deliberately making a hole in my nose? Absolutely not.

So I insisted we get it done first.

She finally gave up and took me to a traditional goldsmith. No piercing gun. No fancy studio. Just an experienced man who looked at my nose, marked a spot and got to work. Before I could overthink it, it was done. He placed a thin metal wire through the piercing, told me how to take care of it and asked me to come back after a week if everything healed well.

My eyes were filled with tears—not just because it hurt, but because I couldn't believe I'd actually gone through with it.

And obviously, after being that brave, I deserved a reward.

Straight to the bajji bandi we went.

There I was, one side of my nose throbbing, eyes still watery, happily eating hot Mysore bajjis dipped in that magical tomato chutney. Looking back, it sounds completely ridiculous. At that moment, it felt like the perfect celebration.

After that, I took a bus home. Those were the days when buses and autos were just... life. I reached home expecting someone to immediately notice the dramatic change I'd made.

Nothing.

Not Amma.

Not my sister.

Nobody.

I finally gave up and asked, "Do you notice anything different about me?"

Blank faces.

So I pointed at my nose.

Amma was still processing it.

But Nanna...

His face lit up.

I don't think I'll ever forget that expression. It wasn't loud or dramatic. It was simply pure happiness. He had always hoped one of us would wear a nose ring someday, and seeing me standing there with that tiny little sparkle made him unbelievably happy.

Today, whenever someone compliments my nose ring, I smile and say thank you. But somewhere in my heart, it always reminds me of that old lady frying bajjis over a kerosene stove, my friend trying her best to stop me from making an impulsive decision, a plate of half-cooked Mysore bajjis with unforgettable tomato chutney, and my father's smile when he finally noticed the tiny little change on my face.

Who would've thought the story behind my nose ring would begin with a Mysore bajji?

Ingredients:

• 2 cups maida (all-purpose flour); whole wheat flour for a slightly healthier version
• ¼ cup rice flour
• ¼ cup curd
• ¼ teaspoon baking soda
• ½ teaspoon ginger, curry leaves and cumin each
• Salt, to taste
• Water, as required
• Oil, for deep frying

To Serve

• Coconut chutney
• Tomato chutney (highly recommended 😉)

Instructions:

1. In a large bowl, combine maida, rice flour, salt, baking soda, ginger pieces, curry leaves slightly chopped and cumin.
2. Add the curd and mix well.
3. Gradually add water to make a thick, smooth batter. It should be thicker than dosa batter but not as stiff as chapati dough.
4. Cover and let the batter rest for 2–3 hours. This helps make the bondas soft and fluffy.
5. Heat oil in a deep kadai over medium heat.
6. Wet your fingers slightly, scoop small portions of batter and gently drop them into the hot oil.
7. Fry until they turn beautifully golden brown on all sides.
8. Remove onto a paper towel to drain excess oil.
9. Serve piping hot with coconut chutney or tomato chutney.

Srishti's Secret Tip for the Perfect Plate:

The secret to soft Mysore bajjis is resting the batter. Don't skip it. A well-rested batter gives you those airy, fluffy bondas that stay soft inside while turning beautifully crisp outside.

Also, fry them on a medium flame. High heat may brown them quickly while leaving the center undercooked... although, if you're anything like younger Srishti, you might eat them before they even get the chance to finish cooking! 😄

Srishti's Healing Tip for the Perfect Plate:

Sometimes the smallest, most ordinary moments quietly change our lives.

A roadside bandi...
A friend saying, "Let's eat first."
A spontaneous decision.
A father's smile.

Years later, you don't just remember the food—you remember the people, the place, and the version of yourself who walked away with a full heart... and a tiny little sparkle on her nose. 💛

Why You'll Love This:

• Soft, fluffy and perfectly golden
• A classic South Indian breakfast favorite
• Delicious with both coconut and tomato chutney
• Perfect for rainy mornings and weekend brunches
• Brings back the comforting taste of old roadside tiffin stalls
• Every bite is crisp outside, soft inside, and full of nostalgia