AMMAMMA AND I ALWAYS SHARED A SPECIAL BOND OVER DOSA. I REFUSED TO EAT IT COLD FROM A YOUNG AGE, INSISTING I WAS PARTICULAR, NOT PICKY, AND SHE WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO INDULGED ME. I'D SIT ON THE COUNTER WATCHING THE BATTER SLIP FROM THE LADLE, SPREAD INTO A CIRCLE, SIZZLE, AND LAND STRAIGHT ONTO MY PLATE — ALL THE ASMR I EVER NEEDED. IF A DOSA EVER STUCK TO THE TAWA, SHE'D TALK TO IT, CALLING IT KANNA AND KUTTI, ASKING IT “ENNA DA, WHAT'S WRONG?” UNTIL IT LOOSENED AND FLIPPED OVER, AS IF IT WERE LISTENING TO HER.