Chhutki’s Wedding Feast
I As soon as the 'paka dekha'[1] would be over, the
news would start to filter out into the para.[2] It would
be whispered from balcony to balcony, over clothes-lines and in between overs
during cricket matches in Bungur Park. “Chhutkir
biye hocche!” (“Chhutki is getting married!”); “Chhutki-didir biye!”(“Chhutki didi’s wedding!”). The wedding
season was always something to look forward to in the para. Given the demographics of the para`s residents, the majority of them being below puberty, we were
guaranteed a couple of weddings during every season. So the news would spread,
and as the date came closer, the excitement would rise: ”Chhutkir biyer aar beshi din nei!” (“It`s not long to Chhutki`s
wedding now”). Young and old, we all looked forward to a wedding in the para.
While the adults, especially
the ladies would be engrossed in arcane rituals like 'gaye holud', [3] I would be concerned with only one thing:
food. This was because my mate Potol`s dad was the undisputed maharaj of the community kitchen. From
making 'bhog' [4] during
the Puja[5] to
taking care of minor events like 'annaprasna',
[6] to
monumental feasts like those at weddings, Potol`s father had the right of first
refusal as far as the para was
concerned. It was unthinkable to let anybody else do the honours. Potol`s
ancestors had manned the royal kitchens of Cooch Behar, and Potol was the
youngest member of this distinguished lineage.
A few weeks before the grand
finale, Potol`s dad would be invited to the bride`s home to “discuss the
details” and Potol and I would tag along. As we arrived, the drawing room would
bear the look of a war room, with the bride`s uncle looking harassed, 'khata' [7] at the
ready, to note down the details. It was always the bride`s uncle who led the
discussions, the father of the bride cutting a sorry figure, introverted and
deeply affected by the prospect of financial ruin facing him. There would be
diverse junior uncles and other peripheral male figures present, allegedly to
provide moral support, but as we are about to see, they wouldn`t amount to a
fig in the face of Potol`s dad.
Next, he would shift his attention to the uncle with the “khata”. The 'bhadralok' would open his mouth to speak but Potol`s dad would beat him to it. “Accha dekhun, aapni kotojon ke nemontonno dicchen?” (“Let’s see, how many guests are you inviting then?”) And without waiting for an answer, “Dhorey nin, chho sho jon, taar kom hobey naa.” (“Say, about six hundred, can`t be fewer.”) There would be a collective gasp among the unfortunates present in the room. Finally the uncle with the “khata” would summon up the courage to ask: “Koto laagbe?”. (“How much?”).
Potol`s dad would look at his toenails and speak to himself: “Aath niramish, chhota aamish, aath-doshta misthanna….” (“Eight vegetarian dishes, six fish and meat dishes, eight to ten sweets and desserts…”) One of the younger members in the assembly would interject, “Chhota mishti dile cholbena?”. (“Won¨t six desserts suffice?”). Potol`s dad would ignore the upstart and go into a sort of trance, his eyes rolling into the back of his head; his fingers alone would move as he did his calculations. There would be a deathly silence in the room, except for the oppressive sound of the fan and the whining of the mosquitoes. From time to time, Potol`s dad would intone seemingly random numbers “beyasi”….”choddo”….eksobayeesh, bad teen……”. (“eight-two”…””fourteen”…”one-hundred and twenty-two, minus three……”). The suspense and the oppressive heat inside the room would start becoming unbearable. The bride`s uncle with the “khata” would follow every word, his pencil poised in mid-air. The father of the bride-to-be, on the other hand, would be shaking like a dry “tendu leaf” fluttering forlornly on a solitary branch.
At last the man would open his
eyes and announce in a steady voice.”Saade
egaro taka nokod laagbe sudhu saamagrir jonno. Aamar dakhkhinata aapni nijer
moner moton aalada kore diye deben. Sorserteler daam to aapni jaanen. Aar taaka
dileo aajkaaler baajarer maacchta mukhe deowa jaaye na! Bhogoban jaane aami ki
kore shambhlabo! Aapnar
putri aamar santaaner moton, tai ei daittyo taa nilam. Maake prarthana kori je shob mangal hok.” (“I¨ll need eleven thousand
and five hundred rupees cash in advance, just to cover the purchase of
ingredients. You may separately give me my honorarium, as you see fit. You know
very well the price of mustard oil. And no amount of money can make the fish
available in the markets today edible! God alone knows how I am going to be
able to do it! I look upon your daughter as my own offspring, which is why I am
agreeing to shoulder this burden. I pray to Mother Goddess that everything
should pass off auspiciously”). Then
he would point to Potol and say: “Robbar
bikeley Vidyasagar-ke paathiye debo, nakad or haathey diye deben”. (“I¨ll send Vidyasagar around on Sunday
evening, please handover the cash advance to him”). Potol and I would then put
our hands under his shoulders to help him on his feet. He would then collect
his gamchha' and his umbrella and
waddle out of the room, leaving behind a stunned silence.
Another specialist who would be roped in was Bibekda. Nobody knew exactly what it was, but due to some terrible tragedy in his past Bibekda more or less spent all of his time inside a bottle of cheap country liquor. But whenever there was a wedding he would sober up. He would stay sober until the 'bidayee'[4] and then crawl back into his bottle. But he was indisputably the best quartermaster in the para. His skills at finding and bargaining for the finest, freshest ingredients were legendary. He would have a company of 'thelawallas'[5] at his disposal. Their group captain Parbatlal was a sad, old man with a large cataract in one eye, so skinny that he looked incapable of picking up a 'lota'[6] of water, let alone anchor a thela. But his combined speed and weight record for a thela-load of 'gur'[7] from Burrabazar[8] to Teen Number Gate,[9] set in 1944 had still not been beaten. He had grown too old to remain a singles champion, but he and his two younger brothers could still outrun any other three-man team!
Slowly, the kitchen tent would start buzzing. The 'thelawallas' would start delivering ingredients from far and near. There would be several sorties carrying 'atta', 'suji', 'daal', rice and mustard oil from Posta Bazaar.[10] Eggs and dry fish would come from Sealdah. Two days before the wedding, the Silchar gang would start hanging up their “dhutis” full of curd to make “chhena”[11]. That afternoon, Potol`s father would hold a small puja in one corner of the kitchen tent and sprinkle “gangajal”[12] over the whole area for good luck. By now things would start getting busy and the tent would be lit all night. The noise of coconuts being scraped and rice being pounded would carry late into the stillness of the night. The last things delivered by Bibekda and his logistics company would be fruits from College Street Market and vegetables from Koley Market. And finally, a consignment of fresh fish from Patipukur [13] would arrive the morning of the wedding, some still writhing in their bamboo baskets.
Shutko; Shak aar Ghee bhaat; Aloo Beguner Jhol; Dharosh Sorse; Bandakopir Dalna; Enchorer Dalna; Masoor dal; Chholar dal; Luchi; Papod.
Ilish Machher Paturi; Pabda maccher Jhol; Koi macch pura; Rou machher bhija bhaja; Doi machh; Kosha Mangsho.
Kaacha aamer chatney; ananas chatney.
Mishti doi; Paatishapta; Bhapa pitha aar khejurer gur; Abar khabo, Labango lotika; Cham cham; Sandesh; Rosogolla.
By the time the overeager among the guests started the rosogolla eating contests, Potol`s father would have eaten his 'doi bhath' [7] and gone to bed, exhausted and satisfied at yet another job well done.
[1] The formal ceremony at which the wedding date is finalised.
[2] One’s locality, traditionally bound by a strong spirit of
community.
[3] A pre-wedding ritual at which the bride is anointed with turmeric
paste.
[4] The ritual meal distributed at community festivals.
[5] General term referring to religious festivals, some of them large
and organized by the community.
[6] The ritual at which an infant is introduced to solid food for the
first time.
[7] Ruled
notebook.
[8] A scarf-cum-towel made of coarse cotton.
[9] Traditionally considered the highest among upper-caste brahmins of
Bengal.
II While Potol`s dad could handle
a 'shaddh'[1] or a 'bou bhaath'[2] with his
local minions, something special like a wedding feast called for more special
forces. Among others, he would send word to his relatives asking for
reinforcements and four or five days before D-Day, the Silchar battalion would
arrive, and billet themselves under the giant brown tarpaulin next to the 'khatal'[3] that
would serve as their sleeping quarters as well as working area. It was
perfectly located. Because the Silchar gang were experts in preparing two
things: 'maass' (East Bengal dialect for `fish`) and 'misti'('confectionary').
The “khatal” would go into overdrive,
the buffaloes would be tethered ten days prior to the wedding, their
free-roaming ways temporarily suspended. From then on they would be fed a
nutritious diet of dried straw and milked regularly twice a day, their teats
pulled till the last drop was extracted.
Another specialist who would be roped in was Bibekda. Nobody knew exactly what it was, but due to some terrible tragedy in his past Bibekda more or less spent all of his time inside a bottle of cheap country liquor. But whenever there was a wedding he would sober up. He would stay sober until the 'bidayee'[4] and then crawl back into his bottle. But he was indisputably the best quartermaster in the para. His skills at finding and bargaining for the finest, freshest ingredients were legendary. He would have a company of 'thelawallas'[5] at his disposal. Their group captain Parbatlal was a sad, old man with a large cataract in one eye, so skinny that he looked incapable of picking up a 'lota'[6] of water, let alone anchor a thela. But his combined speed and weight record for a thela-load of 'gur'[7] from Burrabazar[8] to Teen Number Gate,[9] set in 1944 had still not been beaten. He had grown too old to remain a singles champion, but he and his two younger brothers could still outrun any other three-man team!
Slowly, the kitchen tent would start buzzing. The 'thelawallas' would start delivering ingredients from far and near. There would be several sorties carrying 'atta', 'suji', 'daal', rice and mustard oil from Posta Bazaar.[10] Eggs and dry fish would come from Sealdah. Two days before the wedding, the Silchar gang would start hanging up their “dhutis” full of curd to make “chhena”[11]. That afternoon, Potol`s father would hold a small puja in one corner of the kitchen tent and sprinkle “gangajal”[12] over the whole area for good luck. By now things would start getting busy and the tent would be lit all night. The noise of coconuts being scraped and rice being pounded would carry late into the stillness of the night. The last things delivered by Bibekda and his logistics company would be fruits from College Street Market and vegetables from Koley Market. And finally, a consignment of fresh fish from Patipukur [13] would arrive the morning of the wedding, some still writhing in their bamboo baskets.
[1] A ceremony to commemorate one’s elders.
[2] A feast to welcome the bride to her in-law¨s home.
[3] A make-shift cattle-pen, set up by the para`s dhudhwalla or milkman
on a vacant plot.
[4] The formal ceremony after the wedding when the bride is seen off
with the groom.
[5] A thelawalla is a cart-pusher, a thela being a traditional manual
cart.
[6] A water-pot, traditionally made of bell-metal or copper.
[7] Mollasses, used in the preparation of desserts.
[8] Calcutta`s famous wholesale commodities market.
[9] The railway crossing separating Lake Gardens from Rabindra Sarobar or
The Lake and the para`s northern entry point along the Eastern Railway`s Budge
Budge Line.
[10] Wholesale market at Strand Rd., especially known for pulses.
[11] Cottage cheese – the basic ingredient for many traditional bengali
desserts.
[12] Holy water from the river Ganges, or more likely, from its
tributary the Hooghly.
[13] One of Calcutta`s pre-eminent wholesale fish-markets.
III As the day wore into the evening, the kitchen would turn into a
beehive of activity. The smell of roasting, frying, steaming and sweaty bodies
would come wafting out. The wails of the 'shehnai'
[1] would be
heard from the wedding pandal, but Potol and I would remain glued to the
kitchen tent and watch fascinated as the giant vats of rice, the boiling oil in vast 'dekchis'[2] and huge 'haandis'[3] of sweets slowly
filled up. The figure of Lallan Mian could be seen, darting from “kadhai”[4] to “kadhai”, shouting instructions or
obscenities (sometimes it was hard to tell) at the unfortunate wretch who
happened to be manning the particular station. “arrey namurad! sambhaal ke! yeh gosht hai og aap baawarchikhane mein
ho, kothe pey nahin. zaraa adab se!” (“Be careful, you loser! That`s meat you
are handling, and you are in the kitchen, not in a whorehouse. Show some
respect!”). Lallan Mian was a legendary 'masaalchi' [5] from Metiabruz[6], who
worked strictly as a consultant. His ancestors had moved to Calcutta, along
with Nawab Wajid Ali Shah when the British exiled the ruler of Awadh and his
retainers to the city, bringing with them the secrets of the royal kitchens.
Potol`s dad and he went a long way back, and his presence was the “secret
weapon” that gave the added edge to the meat and fish that Potol`s dad was
famous for.
What made Potol`s dad such a genius was his ability to spot and muster a diverse set of talents, while remaining firmly in control of the big picture. He was willing to allow innovative cooking methods but not at the expense of tradition when it came to the menu or by interfering with the basic character of the finished product. In an age when Bengali weddings are increasingly featuring Chinese and Continental, Potol`s dad stuck to the 8-6-8 formation. It went something like this:
What made Potol`s dad such a genius was his ability to spot and muster a diverse set of talents, while remaining firmly in control of the big picture. He was willing to allow innovative cooking methods but not at the expense of tradition when it came to the menu or by interfering with the basic character of the finished product. In an age when Bengali weddings are increasingly featuring Chinese and Continental, Potol`s dad stuck to the 8-6-8 formation. It went something like this:
Shutko; Shak aar Ghee bhaat; Aloo Beguner Jhol; Dharosh Sorse; Bandakopir Dalna; Enchorer Dalna; Masoor dal; Chholar dal; Luchi; Papod.
Ilish Machher Paturi; Pabda maccher Jhol; Koi macch pura; Rou machher bhija bhaja; Doi machh; Kosha Mangsho.
Kaacha aamer chatney; ananas chatney.
Mishti doi; Paatishapta; Bhapa pitha aar khejurer gur; Abar khabo, Labango lotika; Cham cham; Sandesh; Rosogolla.
By the time the overeager among the guests started the rosogolla eating contests, Potol`s father would have eaten his 'doi bhath' [7] and gone to bed, exhausted and satisfied at yet another job well done.
[1] A traditional reed pipe, made famous by the maestro Ustad Bismillah
Khan and played at Bengali weddings.
[2] A heavy-bottomed metal vessel, suitable for long hours of cooking
on high heat.
[3] A deep vessel, with a narrow mouth, used both for cooking and for
storage.
[4] A deep, circular utensil, similar to a wok, and used for
deep-frying.
[5] Expert on spices and master chef.
[6] A neighbourhood on the southern fringe of Calcutta.
[7] Rice and yoghurt.
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