For a country that taught the world how to balance spices, it’s ironic how unbalanced we feel while choosing a delightful meal. I’ve always believed that among art, music, and food, food stands as the most vivid reflection of a culture. The character of a city seeps through its street food stalls, the aromas drifting through its marketplaces, and the rhythm of local eateries as that’s where real contentment takes place. In 2025, my travels have taken me majorly through Hyderabad, Delhi, and Bangalore. And being the author of the column called Masala Mindset, it is natural that one of my first acts here is to immerse myself for hours in Zomato and Swiggy. For me it’s neither indecision nor casual browsing; it is a deliberate engagement. It’s sort of a recce of an upcoming adventure.
Hyderabad reveals itself as a living tribute to history, with every restaurant claiming lineage stretching back to royal kitchens. Whether it’s the eternal Irani Chai and Osmania biscuits or the classic idli-dosa with Mysore bhajjis at the office-bandi, every bite carries a story of pride, tradition, and craftsmanship. The Nizam’s City character is kept alive with the fact that there are more than 1000 popular restaurants with direct or indirect connection with Nawabs or their Khansamas (chefs). These dishes and the richness they are served with are inherited manuscripts in edible form.
Delhi, of course, has drama in every bite. There’s something theatrical about how food lives here. When I walk down to Nagpal Di Hatti to replenish my Chole-Bhature deficiency or watch Daulat ki Chaat swirl edible clouds of flavor, I am reminded of my first winters in Delhi. The city was new, intimidating, yet, the food made me feel anchored. The Dahi bhalla dripping with tamarind or the Gol Gappe with meetha pani felt like the city was saying, “You’re one of us now.”
And then there’s Bangalore, a city that feels like a playlist on shuffle. A city celebrating the pristine and the cosmopolitan. It’s where old-world tiffin culture and startup brunches coexist happily. There’s something deeply comforting about mornings at the MTR Dosa or the Murugan Café where I relish the world’s most delicious Parota Kurma. A well-made parota-kurma is my weakness and I can have it for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Bangalore’s culinary map is a reflection of its people who are multi-layered, ambitious, yet rooted in the quiet contentment.
When in these cities, soon after completing work, I am likely to be on the food apps, scrolling, selecting, half-heartedly preparing myself for an experience but soon abruptly replacing it with another. Scrolling through infinite options is oddly satisfying yet strangely draining. And then suddenly after spending over half an hour locked to the mobile screen I bring myself to a revelation. “Somewhere along these journeys, we’re not just spoilt for choices, but often paralysed by them.” I wish the decision-making was easier, reliable and worthy of the time it consumes.
I think that’s the paradox of our times. We have access, but we’ve lost conviction. We overanalyze joy. We hardly let ourselves simply enjoy a meal or a show. We conduct a review inside our head. Could I have picked something better. Many of us have lived through enough average experiences, delayed deliveries and overhyped ratings to start doubting joy instead of resting in it. Research on choice overload is very clear. As the number of options rises, people often feel more anxiety, more second guessing and less satisfaction with the final choice. We live amid abundance, and that has made authenticity even more precious.
The pattern repeats itself everywhere. Food, streaming platforms, phones, gadgets, insurance plans, credit cards, dating apps, schools, online courses, skincare routines, fitness studios, investment products and even career moves. We are always hunting for the mythical best. It is almost as if satisfaction has become a ranking and we are afraid of coming second in our own lives.
In their quest to make one more sale, brands want to be visible on every channel and speak to every audience. But success does not arrive from adding more and more elements. It comes from knowing what to leave out and where. People respond to a few relevant and well-timed suggestions that feel human and context aware. As fatigue will definitely come forth, the future may not belong to more options. It belongs to a stronger filter that helps make sharper, kinder, and smarter choices.
After all that scrolling, the unanimous choice is a Masala Tikka –
My mother has acute clarity and wisdom when it comes to ordering food. She’s got a restaurants list for herself, which she insists are the most hygienic and healthy. In our case, she’s equally clear and intimidatingly maintains, “No bahar ka khana! (No outside food!)”.
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The views and opinions published here belong to the author and do not necessarily reflect the views and opinions of the publisher.
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