“Ooodilans?” I asked, trying to decipher the name of the restaurant from the mouth full of food that was telling me.
The man pointed his finger and waved his head around after it, losing bits of whatever he was chewing in the process.
“Just around the corner and it’s called ‘Ooodilans?’”
“Right Father, I think it’s down this way.”
Udupi, as it turned out, did have a centre. A large square of one – the Jain temple was situated in it. It wasn’t like a Venetian Piazza, or a French Market Square, no…it was more of like an Australian dusty outback peppered with cow excrement. However, it at least offered us a grounding point. We would be visiting the Temple after breakfast and we would be having breakfast at ‘Ooodilans.’
“I can’t see it, he said it was just around the corner.”
“Do you not think that perhaps this might be what he was talking about?” He asked and pointed at the restaurant to my left.
“No, that’s called Woodlands, I must have gone wrong somewhere. But, I swear,” I said looking around me, desperately trying to work out how I could have got one simple direction wrong, “he pointed just down here.”
“Say Woodlands with an Indian accent.”
“Ooodilans.” Split-second pause. “Aaaaaaaah.”