PIZZA AND PAZHAYA SORU
“She is my delicious Biriyani. The flavour of all her condiments in the rice is delicious but when I accidentally chew one of those condiments itself like cardamom for example, hidden in a morsel I take, it’s bitter” I remarked on my would-be wife’s characteristics, straddling with my half-trousers on, on the wall of a deep well in the middle of a paddy field. He, my cousin had his lungi folded up and straddled, facing me. Breeze messed his messy hair messier. Punching the wall, he stared at me for a while and then he turned away and smirked.
“She is my pazhaya soru and I’m her pacha molaga” He said. For a moment, I thought “how patriarchal! Does that mean that there is no flavour for her without him?”
“such a deadly combination” he added some moments later, answering my alleging thoughts.
“o come on man! Why do you have to say something so ‘country-related’ always countering me?” I asked.
“Do you know what Is grown in this field you are sitting in the middle of right now?” He belittled me “samba or kurunai? Three months crop or six months crop?” I pouted out my lower lip.
“Do you know W.H. Auden and W.B. Yeats?” I tackled him with a counter question. He gave a relegating look and remained silent.
“Both are great poets. And Auden was right about country people” I kindled him for response.
“what that bugger had to say about us?” he raised his eyebrow and jutted his tongue through his right cheek.
“In a homage poem to Yeats he metaphorized village to ignorance because they didn’t read Yeats’ genius”
“avan kadakiyan kena kooo” He said in his typical country Tamil dialect .
“My Tamil Selvi writes better” he said and sang in his high pitched voice.
The sun had set in the West
The mass has gone to rest
Even the waning moon hid his crescent
Why am I still lying feeling resent
It all started when this flower the spring had bloomed
Promised by the words of love and fooled
With the hand on my head I’ve been told
I’ll never be let down even when I’m old.
“Wow…but what’s between you and her” I inquired
“I couldn’t keep my promise” he said anxiously.
“Why” I asked
“engappan dhiyan” he shouted angrily.
“what Mama told?”
“avanga namma aalunga illa le” he replied very hesitantly.
Translation: “they don’t belong to us”. But I still can’t understand what that means!
kilk 
Analysis of the characteristics of a spouse with Biriyani and Gender inequality with Palayasoru and Pachamolaga is appreciable for the spicy way of handling. The convo between the two characters, one from rural and the other from urban, esp the argument of poets that led to the beautiful poem, is chilled with fun untill the major issue is revealed to the readers to realize how cruel it is to divide people by thier birth. Although, indirectly slightest touch on issue is reached clearly with the last statement which questions the slogan “unity in diversity”.
Loved reading👍👍
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The title, “Pizza and Pazhaya Sorry” itself stand unique. The juxtaposition of the East and the West that well balanced through the character ‘Tamil Selvi’ was awesome! The portrayal of the Indian women in rural areas as “Pazhaya Soru” who could be identified through the “Pacha molaga”( husbands ) depicts the hard vulgarity which is still prevailing …. And the poem that had been infused in the story uplifts the beauty of Indians and the scholarly input of the two greats poets shows the excellency of the writer…! Ultimately, a humorous and witty creation, must to be appreciated..l
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