Dining Table Romance

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“This is way too salty. You cannot possibly expect me to eat this. Seriously now, MA” I snapped, prior to rising up from the breakfast table. There was NO way I was eating this and hoping for a flat tummy.

Our chef, Jiten almost threw a hissy fit in the kitchen. It was 70% drama and 30% outrage, knowing him from childhood as I did. Ma was still reeling from the shock of the allegation. Pa was still enveloped within the folds of his beloved Assam Tribune and above all petty squabbles at the dining table and bro was stolidly chewing his way through his portion of scrambled eggs and toast. The dogs wagged their tails under the tables and hit the assorted human and wooden legs.

“SIT DOWN. You need direction in your life” stated Ma as if laying down the law. She ALWAYS ambushed me.

I sat down and concentrated on my porridge. I didn’t get much cooked AND edible stuff back in good ole Glasgow. I also didn’t get Ma’s breakfast specials, but hell, the porridge was worth it.

“You need direction, you hear me? Will you please tell him that he requires direction?” repeated Ma, with a special glance at Pa who was equally engrossed in his breakfast and newspaper and looked up rather guiltily.

Pa was just great. He was never much good at discipline but brilliant at solving homework, bedtime stories, wonders in the kitchen and general all around nonsense. Though usually quite a charmer, he was this abject sheep in Ma’s presence and it was a sight to see them both. The giant ox of a man being heckled to death by a bantam rooster of a woman; our votes were comprehensively on Pa’s side with Ma having the veto in the house. Theirs was a love I envied and admired for its absurdity and sincerity.

“Umm. Yes. You lack direction. Especially now that education has been exhausted on you.” offered Pa before diving back to his paper.

“I am not getting any younger and this huge house is getting on my nerves. I have been taking care of this shambles and the number of boys and dogs that comprise of this entire mad zoo” ranted on Ma as bro kept on stolidly chomping on his eggs. I fed some of my eggs to Tiger who was sitting under my chair for this very reason.

Bro quietly made the hand sign for “same speech?” and I replied in the affirmative waggle under the table. Pa had taught us hand sign from his times as a motorcycle bum across India and the three of us, over the years developed it into an art form. Especially useful in really boring marriages, funerals, ma’s interminable specials and so forth. Pa caught the hand sign and signaled “shut up and eat fast”

“……We need a girl around the place, that’s what we need” ended Ma on a triumphant note.

Two faces goggled at her and the third, at the head of the table, dived well below newsprint with prior knowledge of incoming inclement weather.

Ma looked positively taken aback at the very idea of having such an attentive audience. I was at a loss for words and nudged bro with my knee.

“Fantastic idea, I completely agree with you. Couldn’t be happier. My blessings for it and all that” gabbled out bro as he pushed back his chair.

I looked up flummoxed and looked up to see a quicksilver wink on his slanted devil’s eyebrows.

“Of course, I can understand that you guys are now bored with Dada and me out of your hair and busy with our lives and work. So, YES, we’d LOVE to have a little sister!!! As long as Pa is willing and you’re able, I don’t really see what the pro…AAAHHHH!!!”

Did I forget to add that after 25 years of throwing stuff at her errant sons and their dogs, Ma had developed a rather fearsome reputation for her pitching arm?

Bro staggered back from the clutch of napkins thrown point blank at his cherubic face and beat a hasty retreat, leaving me to my predicament and half-finished breakfast.

Pa had got a meaningful nudge in the meantime and put down his newspaper with a gusty sigh and cleared his throat. This was part of hand sign for “sorry dude, this is your mom’s doing”

“What your mother means to say is that, we need a woman around the place. More your age and suitable for our family kind of thing. This place needs another woman” This said, he fixed me with a stare and promptly went back to his newspaper.

Wiping my lips with the napkins and after a careful reconnaissance of objects within Ma’s reach, I rose out of my chair and said;

“Well of course, I do understand Pa. It happens to all of us one way or the other. But I feel I must warn you beforehand that if you persist in marrying someone younger, I’ll fight on Ma’s side for the divorce proceedings”

Surprise and speed is the essence of success in attack, said Sun T’zu in the Art of War

I had the surprise and now I ran for it. I could hear the tea dolly slamming into the wall behind me.

It’s something else to have the thrum of a steady pulsing 500cc engine under your seat and the sun in your face. It’s also another great thing that helmets are not compulsory in the small towns and cities like Guwahati. Though, it would be wrong to call Guwahati small; bloody place was getting more and more congested and there were far too many cars on the roads now. Also better roads now if credit is to be given. I was back from 3 years of slogging and freezing my silly ass out in the UK and the warm winter sun felt great on my back. In fact, I felt great, no two ways about it.

I had just quit my job as corporate development manager for HBOS in Glasgow and was due a long break. For an Indian kid, the only thing to make any difference is education and security and after years of slogging through law school and finally a scholarship in Glasgow Strathclyde MBA programme was something considered to be heaven. The work permit visa stamp confirming multiple-entry to the UK was seen as the pinnacle of success and I had just quit my dreary cubicle and views of never ending grey skies. I wanted blue skies and sun and maybe something more than just corporate life.

The dighalipukhuri Café Coffee Day was just inaugurated when I was about to leave for the UK. Back the night before and seriously in need of actual caffeine and not powder instant coffee, I headed there straight. My beloved cruiser, gathering dust the last 3 years in Pa’s garage started on the second kick. I also had my lucky leather jacket on despite the sun. I mean, hello, I WAS on holiday.

The deep thrum of the bike and the tad pretentious leather jack with its fringes drew a few eyes, mostly male from the high pavilion of the seats where they overlooked the lake. I clumped up in my beat up boots, happy to finally wear a skin tight white tee and jeans. I believe there was a slight roll of swagger involved as well, though I absolve myself of vanity or foreknowledge of the same.

That was the last peaceful breakfast and bike ride for some time to come.

That very evening, I was ambushed by Jiten in collusion with Ma and trussed up into a silly suit. It was in vain that I tried to explain to him that I couldn’t possibly eat his gargantuan meals and still maintain the hard won flat tummy and clean cut jaw-line. He couldn’t be bothered with my arguments and sided with Ma, the ingrate. I was being taken along for a “social visit” to some ancient relatives, as part of “our social obligations”

A word about my paternal family; we are a little over-crowded. My ancestors had never heard of family planning and didn’t hold with that sort of thing anyway. Till my dad’s generation, the basic consideration for a home was that it should be over-run with boys and puppies. Needless to say, my pa’s family ran long on boys, big, tall, boisterous boys who married nice girls and got more boys. At the last count, during some festival or the other, I calculated that I had enough cousins within three degrees to run soccer premier league tournaments, though the chances were that it would soon develop into a free-for-all rugby session really.

My paternal family is brilliant; they are funny and crazy and very warm hearted. They visit often and expect visits and so on and so forth. I’ll explain about Ma’s side of the family later.

Anyway, there I was stuck along with bro, who was grumbling as well, on our way to pay our respects and meet people. By the time, we reached the destination and said hello, I realized that I was the only one who was supposed to do all the meeting. With proper eligible girls from our community, caste, status etc. My Ma had well and truly ambushed me…again.

I met them all; fat chubby girls, slim slender girls, tall girls, short girls. I met all types; the giggly ones, the strong silent types, the firebrands, and the mousie ones….in fact I am sure I met even a lesbian and possibly one fairy. I did get along quite well with the fairy, brother to one of the girls I think, much to my Ma’s consternation. That boy was a walking encyclopedia on females in the town and was invaluable and just to spite Ma, I would drag him along to all the meetings.

And the food. Oh the food….

I was fed from house to house as if I had returned from Somalia. Full nine course meals, different cuisines and loads and loads of sweets and puddings. My tummy shrieked and clamoured and no matter how much I worked out and ran, my jeans were getting tighter. I soon learnt to be very picky with food no matter where I went. Mother’s detested my sneers and untouched plates, daughters just detested me, the aunts I wooed over with flattery and lies.

The funny thing was that wherever I went, assurances greeted me that the girl I was meeting had prepared the nine-course dinner. I mean, some of the stuff required serious marinating and hours of preparation. But the girl would be fresh faced as a daisy and shyly, demurely accept my parents commendations and my grimaces.

I was getting tired of it all and was ready to run back to the UK, when I was rescued by my beloved granny (maternal) and was requested to pay her a visit up in Jorhat. I packed my rucksack in a jiffy, kicked awake bro and we both got on the road on ole faithful before Ma could wake up to stop us.

The road to Jorhat twirls and meanders its way across all of Assam. Guwahati is in what is referred to as being in Lower Assam and Jorhat is the bastion of Upper Assam. The National Highway 32 wanders through picturesque villages like Sonapur, PuroniGudam, Roha and small towns like Nagaon. The roads are dotted with trees all along the route and the mighty Brahmaputra is never too far away and you are always in view of one or the other of its tributaries. We passed through Kaziranga Wildlife Sanctuary and watched the herons and the deer in the off-season grasslands on either side of the road. With frequent stops for cha and smokes and photographs, it wasn’t till late that we rolled up to the old bus terminus and hung a sharp left up solicitor’s road to my granny’s residence in Jorhat.

My maternal side of the family is the exact opposite of Pa’s family. They are quiet, nice and very sensible people. Not to say that they are not warm enough or fun to be with. They’re fun in their own ways, just that they were not very loud and rambunctious people. My granny is this small thin little bird of a woman who is so fair and so old that her skin is like translucent rice paper. She has these bright eyes and a wicked sense of humour and who would scratch my scalp and hair till I fell asleep in her lap.

After a day or two in the relaxing environs of Jorhat, granny asked us to take her to visit her old friends. Happy to oblige her, we drove her out to her friends place around eleven in the morning. Finding the place turned out to be a tad difficult as it was in the middle of a tea-estate about an hour’s drive from the town. By the time we reached the house, it was past noon.

It was an old colonial estate house, all wooden rafters and wire netting on the patio and the whole house reeked of burnt food. Granny’s friend welcomed us effusively enough and did the usual oh-my-goodness-me-how-the-boys-have-grown routine. The adults appeared to be granny’s friend, her son and daughter-in-law and a floppy haired dog. Being naturally good with dogs and conversation, I was soon reclining with the dog in my lap and making my hosts as comfortable as possible, when it walked in.

I say IT, because my first thought was “oh dear god, we need an ambulance!!!”

The apparition was in an apron, bandages and a chef’s hat. It also seemed that half the contents of the spice basket and possibly half the contents of the garbage pail were involved with the apron, the bandages and the hat.

“Lunch is ready” it barked in a rather sharp tenor, which is when I realized that IT was a girl under all that guck.

Granny’s friend and her daughter paled at the sight of their blood descendant while the father briskly turned to me and asked if I fancied a quick stiff whisky. I was too busy goggling at the apparition who glared at me and stomped off towards the inside of the house. The ladies followed in quick succession.

Bro touched his nose, hand sign for “wanna run away?”

I was too intrigued with the apparition and wanted to know what followed, so I damned the consequences, refused the whisky and awaited proceedings. The man of house invited us in to have lunch and we took our places at the long dining table.

The table was impeccably set with Waterford crockery and silver cutlery, possibly handed down generation after generation. The food in their beautiful white and blue porcelain was possibly handed down from an army mess or worse.

After a few minutes, the apparition appeared looking like a UNDP effort at salvage and disaster management. She was above average height with long curly tresses which looked slightly burnt, a heart shaped face scrubbed to an inch with a fiery glow in her cheeks and really BIG eyes which glowered at me as she served the food out. There was soggy overdone rice which went splat on the plate, watery dal which dribbled over and fried potatoes which had been seared black. She sat back and glowered at me, going pink around the ears.

I was entranced.

When I was a kid, I loved food and Pa was a great cook, not to mention the rest of the uncles. It was a fact of our clan that the men cooked better than the women. My Ma was no mean cook herself and my uncles on the distaff side ran a chain of very successful restaurants and hotels famed for their food.

Bro took one mouthful of food, manfully swallowed it down with a great gulp of water and then contented himself on pushing the food around his plate. Granny more or less did the same as did the rest of the family.

I ate like there was no tomorrow. It reminded me of my first efforts at cooking and the more I ate, the more she glowered at me.

I asked for seconds, when the glow in her eyes kindled again

“There’s some chicken curry and pulao. Would you care for some?” she sneered at me.

I merely nodded. Something faintly yellow-ish brown was slopped onto my plate followed by something else which was brown and mostly black. The chicken was just about boiled, the curry was without salt and the pulao burnt beyond recognition of colour or taste.

I kept my eyes on the plate and gobbled it all down.

Bro and granny and the rest of the family had long since given up any pretence at eating and were watching me like a Guinness Book of Records event. I concentrated on swallowing.

“Would you like some water?” she asked. Ah, the tonal variation had changed. I shook my head and continued mastication and requested seconds.

After I managed to put away about two plates of pulao, I finally signaled that I had enough and went to wash my hands. I could hear, from the washroom, Granny order bro;

“You, try some of the chicken. NOW”

“Not a chance, granny, as much as I love you” replied bro

There was a silence which was punctuated the lift of a ladle and something went splat on a plate. An agonized moment later, I could clearly hear her;

“My god, Shakuntala, I cannot believe he ate TWO helpings of this curry, much less cleaned the meat off the bones”

It was time to get back to the dining room. I smiled at everyone and offered my compliments to the chef. I even discretely burped behind my hand and sat myself down in my chair.

“Would you care for a sweet dish?” there was a note of anxiety in the voice now. I looked up and grinned at the worried looking face. She WAS cute.

Ah….

I happily nodded yes.

Bro was making frantic hand sign “Are you okay?” “Are you okay?”.

I ignored him and continued talking to the man of the house who was past the storming waters of imminent and ongoing disaster and now peacefully paddling through the debris of the storm past.

A bowl of rice pudding was tentatively offered and graciously accepted. It was salty.

I dug in and polished it off and resisted a second helping, patting my belly and looked her in the eye.

I grinned again and finally she smiled too. She WAS pretty….

“And that’s how I married my beautiful, dutiful, handful of a wife” I wound up my speech on my tenth wedding anniversary at our 4rth restaurant opening, “Any other girl could present food that was cooked by someone else, but it took guts to be honest and show who she was. I could always cook proper food whenever I wanted, but she ensured that I remained fit. How could I do ANYTHING other than marry her?”

She still glowers at me and I know I am getting burnt rice for the next week.

***