There's a bit of Chicken 65 in all of us

Flashback. Cut to 12th Grade. Chemistry class. The teacher started a new chapter about 'medicinal drugs'. The moment she wrote 'drugs' on the blackboard, almost everyone in class turned towards me and started calling out my name, leaving the teacher dumbfounded. Later that evening, I was summoned by the same teacher along with another preacher of a teacher for an intervention. Apparently, there was a rumor going around school that I used to use drugs.

Rewind to 11th grade. Someone apparently 'saw me' make out with my girlfriend in class. This, in a school where girls are allocated a separate row to be seated. Agreed, we used to sit in adjacent seats. But that's about it.

Fast forward to a few months later. Someone says they heard that I had sex in the car. Yes I was never allowed to drive a car until 1st year in college, but what can I say?

Fast forward to 1st year of college. Someone said that my Dad is a politician who was a part of ADMK. This was 2008. My dad passed away on August 19, 2006. So unless my Dad was a RAW agent who faked his death to work as an undercover politician, I don't understand how this is possible.

There are a few more stories about myself, and a lot more shocking stories I've heard about people close to me. Every time I heard one, I've never known how to react except express shock and anger. Anyways, I'll get to that later.

This ambrosial work of art above, fondly known as the 'Chicken 65' is the biggest breakthrough when it comes to South Indian cuisine. It is probably the most loved entree, appetizer, 'side dish' and also whiskey's best friend. Tender, succulent, juicy fried meat, waiting to be devoured. A universal favourite, the Chicken 65 completes the menu of every non-vegetarian South Indian joint and loved by every one who has ever heard of it or laid their eyes on it.

However, like every legend, there are a million stories surrounding the genesis of the Chicken 65 and its name. And everyone has their own version of it. After all, why the fuck would someone name a dish as Chicken 65?

Believed to be created in 1965 at Chennai's Buhari Hotel, the Chicken 65 is probably the most controversial dish of all time, owing to its mysterious title. Among the many stories shrouding it, here are a few:

• It takes 65 days to prepare the marinade for the dish.
• Another account reveals that the dish contains 65 chili peppers.
• No, it's because the meat comes from 65-day old chickens.
• That doesn't make sense, does it? The number 65 comes from the time when many North Indian soldiers stationed in Madras came to Buhari for their meals, and because the Tamil names of the dishes couldn't be read/pronounced by them, the menu was written in a series of numbers, with each number corresponding to a certain dish. It so happened that this dish was 'number 65' on the menu, and the soldiers asked for this dish by its number. Word spread, and there it was: the genesis of Chicken 65.
• But that doesn't have any scientific explanation, does it? Believers in science suggested that the dish was invented by a culinary-minded electronics engineer whose work involved designing batteries from Terbium, an element whose atomic number is 65.
• Why would a dish have any scientific explanation, some asked. They then explained that the creator of the dish required chillies from Doddabetta, the highest mountain in Tamil Nadu. However, a pack of vicious dogs were known to roam the Doddabetta. The chef sent many men to the Doddabetta to obtain the chillies yet no one returned, unable to climb the treacherous mountainside, or falling prey to the pack of dogs. Eventually, the 66th man went and was able to retrieve the famous chillies. The chef decided to honour the 65 men who had given their lives for the vital ingredient and named the dish Chicken 65.
• No, that's a bullshit story, said the other mythologists and respected elders. A popular story told by elders to children about the dish is that it originally came at the time of Mahendravaram I, a Pallava King who defeated the Kalabhras. Mahendravaram I is seen as a hero by many in the Tamil Nadu district and legend has it he himself slaughtered 65 enemy soldiers and upon victory ordered a grand feast. His personal chefs took the remains of the 65 slaughtered and cooked them such a way that all were awed at the fantastic taste of human flesh. Since then the main ingredient has changed to chicken following the demise of cannibalism, yet the precise spices and cooking method remains the same. Chefs decided the name the dish Chicken 65, as the original dish contained 65 corpses.

As I said, everyone has their own version of the story. Unfortunately, the founder of Buhari Hotel and the dish, A.M.Buhari is no more to explain the true story of its genesis, while millions spurn their own yarns about its history.

The fact is, people LOVE stories. Some like to make them up to entertain others or keep themselves entertained. Some to make a difference, some to construct chaos. Whatever the reason is, people love creating stories and more of them like sharing them. The repercussions might be good or bad, but by the time we find out who started it, there are a thousand more people who know about it. And we have no idea who is listening.

I know I've indulged in quite a bit of digressing, but the fact is that whether good or bad, a typical story can be created within 10 seconds. The moment you share the story with someone else, and that person shares it with someone else and so on and so forth, the content gets tampered with, diluted, altered for mostly wrong reasons. And that, results in a series of mostly irreversibly permanent repercussions that someone else has to deal with. Some of those repercussions that I've personally witnessed, are scary to say the least. 

Speaking of repercussions, I was never into drugs. Hell, the first joint I ever tried was during my 2nd year of college. I never made out with my girlfriend in class. Neither did I have sex in the car. Nor was my father a politician or James Bond. Nor was a girl I knew a slut who slept around with 7 guys. Nor did another girl give her boyfriend a blow job in a dark Anna Nagar street at 8:45 on a warm Wednesday evening. And yet, me, you, that girl, and the other girl have all had to deal with a million questions, a million judgements and a whole lot of other bullshit on a daily basis.

Like the Chicken 65, we all have our own mysteries, our own little idiosyncrasies, quirks and several other traits that are unique to us. That is what makes us human, even if it is the starting point of a totally random and unnecessary conversation between two people distantly related to us. Don't believe or even listen to a story unless you know the person yourself. More often than not, you would be pleasantly surprised at the total falseness of the stories surrounding that individual.

So who cares about the stories? Enjoy the fucking dish, people.

Bon appetit.