Thursday, January 14, 2010
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
The groom's tale..part 1
This part of the post is in flashback.. As i sit at this corner of Kolkata, and the mercury dipping comfortably to levels calcuttans haven't experienced before..it' all being blamed on that one week between lansdowne and Salt lake, where an unusual amount of warmth was concentrated, leaving rest of the city shivering under blankets and waiting for didi to announce another 'rastaa roko'.
That didn't happen, and as i ventured out in my dhoti and VIP vest to experience the vicco turmeric moment of my life, garrulous aunts in their size 88 figures came out in screechish ulus to coat me in a delectable hue of yellow. The purohit chanted on something that translated to -
"take that shit you marrying man".
Then came the real deal. Draped in dhoti and designer punjabi and with an army of alpha males....i was off to the chadnatola (the place where bride and groom exchange Malas. DD. Double Delight.)
My entourage was delayed, primarily because mom-in-law had probably misplaced a safety pin which was meant to keep her hair bun in place..or last minute touches to the better half were still pending.
So we took a Salt lake detour, amidst jokes about how 'we hab reached aaarlyyy..hahahahaha!'
And then the driver not to miss out on the festive spirit, got off to take a leak.
Now that is a true blue Kolkata wedding.
But that wasn't all. Despite the countless U turns, we did reach before time, and a the traditional boron happened. But as I proudly made my entrance, a take 2 happened. Mom in law, having now arrived, made me rewind my steps back to the reversing of the car and the entire episode was played out.
And then began a night that consisted of me being gifted a sarod, playing that with rusty fingers to broadly smiling genteel bongs who smiled with paternal pride at my 'caaaalchaared' upbringing and Ali Akbar Khan tutelage...while the wafts of gondhoraaj chicken teased my tongue.
To hell with yaman Kalyan on jhaaptaal maan!
Which brings me to the food but that is another post...
That didn't happen, and as i ventured out in my dhoti and VIP vest to experience the vicco turmeric moment of my life, garrulous aunts in their size 88 figures came out in screechish ulus to coat me in a delectable hue of yellow. The purohit chanted on something that translated to -
"take that shit you marrying man".
Then came the real deal. Draped in dhoti and designer punjabi and with an army of alpha males....i was off to the chadnatola (the place where bride and groom exchange Malas. DD. Double Delight.)
My entourage was delayed, primarily because mom-in-law had probably misplaced a safety pin which was meant to keep her hair bun in place..or last minute touches to the better half were still pending.
So we took a Salt lake detour, amidst jokes about how 'we hab reached aaarlyyy..hahahahaha!'
And then the driver not to miss out on the festive spirit, got off to take a leak.
Now that is a true blue Kolkata wedding.
But that wasn't all. Despite the countless U turns, we did reach before time, and a the traditional boron happened. But as I proudly made my entrance, a take 2 happened. Mom in law, having now arrived, made me rewind my steps back to the reversing of the car and the entire episode was played out.
And then began a night that consisted of me being gifted a sarod, playing that with rusty fingers to broadly smiling genteel bongs who smiled with paternal pride at my 'caaaalchaared' upbringing and Ali Akbar Khan tutelage...while the wafts of gondhoraaj chicken teased my tongue.
To hell with yaman Kalyan on jhaaptaal maan!
Which brings me to the food but that is another post...
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Santa in a dhuti
25.12.09
Arguably the finest Christmas i ever had. And it all began with Indro da making his way in the morning, and Arpan-Gudduda-Mumudi and my family shoving food down my throat.
Yeah with a beginning that had a beheaded Rui, whose jawsize cometed with mine, staring at me, could it get any better.
Topshey, doi maach, maacher mathaa etc and enthusiastic mashimas sniggering and ulu-ing egged me on to attack. (ulu is the sound that relatives make once the bride and groom have said 'ilu' - Subhash Ghai too has a Bong connection. Anjan Dutta shud be proud)
But then i figured looking at the spread - am I being wel fed because before the proverbial chop arrives - i should feel satiated enough to not let the nervous lines show on my face?
Well there should have been mutton. And by Bong standards it was still a vegetarian meal.
Meanwhile i did enough touching toes in one day than i had done when i used to attend school cricket practise sessions.
And then came the evening we were all waiting for.
Colour co-ordinated bride and groom and clock watching in laws waited on, as the party wallahs trooped in. Umpteen smiles and nods at people, whose names i don't rememeber anymore( well most of them), the phones started to buzz.
"Do we take the right or the left?"
"Is it the second island after City Centre or the one after...?"
"is your father in law unciorking his single malt collection?"
And all thsi while i was being dragged at various directions to meet SoandSo when all my eyes wanted was some SOS from the piping hot fish fingers.
Superb fish fingers again. Bhetki fangs that attacked directly into your salivatory glands with just their aroma before biting into your teeth and juicing down to the wintry stomach.
And then, the Angels - Riya, Angie and Indrani started their moves from behidn the red curtain. A fitting backdrop for the city and perhaps the last time the red curtain was breached by apsaras who performed.
Ably voiced by a hulusthoool snarling MC - SharmaG, the dancers had enough charm in them that could seduce everyone this side of the red curtain including Biman Bose and mao.
And just as you were about to say 'WOW' the Mumbai phatakas - Romi, Ruchika (of Mahim causeway fame), SharmaG and SharmaP and lady Simi (not Simi the gandalf but Simi the dancer) - began their "WAKAO"
MIthun, Jeetu, Bappi came across in avatars that would make even Jeetuji pale compared to his shoe and Parbhuji would have exclaimed "Supaaaarb, sexxxxy, mindblowing, super-duper-sarvotyaam" and Bapida would have had tears roll down his cheeks (an impossibilty,because of the distance to be covered).
"naino mein sapna"...is what dreams began with and rounded off by dance Dance's immortal poetry, that underlined and foretold what was to happen in theevening thereafter.
Move over Nostradamus , come forth B Subhash.
Everybody did dance with Pa Pa Pa and everybody did dance with Ma Ma.
Never has bengal been so unanimous in its affirmation with any party slogan.
Chicago residents, Londoners, Delhiites, Mumbaiites, and other villagers last night, decided to, before the red dupatta usher in Santa in a dhuti with its own brand of Pop-o-sanskriti.
And if you thought that was the end..hehehe..you were wrong.
A sports journalist pal tippled over, and hopefully will be back in a day to coverdrive.
Inquisitive and lecherous eyes with "what's her number" in their eyes, could only muster a "ohh i see..she's ratoola's friend?" and a smile
And the Kolkata pulao and chicken seemed to have bowled over the diners.
And then, the backpack and Surya's guitar came out.
And a medley of gautamChatterjee, R D Burman ensued, peppered by an enthusiastic aunty who sombred the evening with her tagore overture, soon to be overshadowed by roving-eye rhiju's Sanu impersonations over 'angna mein baba'.
Come 30th the reception will be witnes to the real Baba. baba Ronydev as he makes his cool trip this side of the equator. But that will be another post.
As Ratoola did a Helen, and i stayed static as jalal Agha's movie career, mom-in-law became the grandfather clock.
The decibel, acibel and time tabil levels had been breached.
My voice was gone. And somewhere on the beautifully done up garden, i could see Santa sneak out in a red dhoti...or maybe the 3 magi woudl be wondering whether their choice of gifts for the Lord was good enough 2009 years ago...
I wouldn't kow. But Magi or noMagi, this Christmas has been my Merriest ever.
And it has just started.
let me warn you.
Arguably the finest Christmas i ever had. And it all began with Indro da making his way in the morning, and Arpan-Gudduda-Mumudi and my family shoving food down my throat.
Yeah with a beginning that had a beheaded Rui, whose jawsize cometed with mine, staring at me, could it get any better.
Topshey, doi maach, maacher mathaa etc and enthusiastic mashimas sniggering and ulu-ing egged me on to attack. (ulu is the sound that relatives make once the bride and groom have said 'ilu' - Subhash Ghai too has a Bong connection. Anjan Dutta shud be proud)
But then i figured looking at the spread - am I being wel fed because before the proverbial chop arrives - i should feel satiated enough to not let the nervous lines show on my face?
Well there should have been mutton. And by Bong standards it was still a vegetarian meal.
Meanwhile i did enough touching toes in one day than i had done when i used to attend school cricket practise sessions.
And then came the evening we were all waiting for.
Colour co-ordinated bride and groom and clock watching in laws waited on, as the party wallahs trooped in. Umpteen smiles and nods at people, whose names i don't rememeber anymore( well most of them), the phones started to buzz.
"Do we take the right or the left?"
"Is it the second island after City Centre or the one after...?"
"is your father in law unciorking his single malt collection?"
And all thsi while i was being dragged at various directions to meet SoandSo when all my eyes wanted was some SOS from the piping hot fish fingers.
Superb fish fingers again. Bhetki fangs that attacked directly into your salivatory glands with just their aroma before biting into your teeth and juicing down to the wintry stomach.
And then, the Angels - Riya, Angie and Indrani started their moves from behidn the red curtain. A fitting backdrop for the city and perhaps the last time the red curtain was breached by apsaras who performed.
Ably voiced by a hulusthoool snarling MC - SharmaG, the dancers had enough charm in them that could seduce everyone this side of the red curtain including Biman Bose and mao.
And just as you were about to say 'WOW' the Mumbai phatakas - Romi, Ruchika (of Mahim causeway fame), SharmaG and SharmaP and lady Simi (not Simi the gandalf but Simi the dancer) - began their "WAKAO"
MIthun, Jeetu, Bappi came across in avatars that would make even Jeetuji pale compared to his shoe and Parbhuji would have exclaimed "Supaaaarb, sexxxxy, mindblowing, super-duper-sarvotyaam" and Bapida would have had tears roll down his cheeks (an impossibilty,because of the distance to be covered).
"naino mein sapna"...is what dreams began with and rounded off by dance Dance's immortal poetry, that underlined and foretold what was to happen in theevening thereafter.
Move over Nostradamus , come forth B Subhash.
Everybody did dance with Pa Pa Pa and everybody did dance with Ma Ma.
Never has bengal been so unanimous in its affirmation with any party slogan.
Chicago residents, Londoners, Delhiites, Mumbaiites, and other villagers last night, decided to, before the red dupatta usher in Santa in a dhuti with its own brand of Pop-o-sanskriti.
And if you thought that was the end..hehehe..you were wrong.
A sports journalist pal tippled over, and hopefully will be back in a day to coverdrive.
Inquisitive and lecherous eyes with "what's her number" in their eyes, could only muster a "ohh i see..she's ratoola's friend?" and a smile
And the Kolkata pulao and chicken seemed to have bowled over the diners.
And then, the backpack and Surya's guitar came out.
And a medley of gautamChatterjee, R D Burman ensued, peppered by an enthusiastic aunty who sombred the evening with her tagore overture, soon to be overshadowed by roving-eye rhiju's Sanu impersonations over 'angna mein baba'.
Come 30th the reception will be witnes to the real Baba. baba Ronydev as he makes his cool trip this side of the equator. But that will be another post.
As Ratoola did a Helen, and i stayed static as jalal Agha's movie career, mom-in-law became the grandfather clock.
The decibel, acibel and time tabil levels had been breached.
My voice was gone. And somewhere on the beautifully done up garden, i could see Santa sneak out in a red dhoti...or maybe the 3 magi woudl be wondering whether their choice of gifts for the Lord was good enough 2009 years ago...
I wouldn't kow. But Magi or noMagi, this Christmas has been my Merriest ever.
And it has just started.
let me warn you.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Wedding preparations
This morning, I was rudely awakened early (a little hungover from the excess of partying last night) by a loud commotion downstairs. The pandal makers, the lightmen and the videgraphers and an odd carpenter had all arrived at thesame time. The Kundu family scurried around directing this, supervising that, much argument, disagreement, heated debates ensuing. The videographers wanted a pre-wedding shot of the family, sipping tea in the lawn - the calm before the storm so to speak. While dad did the last minute invitations over the phone, mom ran after the pandal makers scolding them whenever they tripped over one of her plants in the garden, beseeching them to stay a little longer during lunch time to move a few things here and there, swinging from being angry to being persuasive , like a pendulum. Brother was sent off to the market to buy the last minute tid bits and took close to two/three hours ambling in City Center - glad to get away from the chaos, confusion and commotion. The bride to be was delegated the responsibility of folding the mountain of clothes that had piled up and making the beds - good training huh? Things are finally getting back to normal in the late afternoon, after a thousand phonecalls, one thousand and one trips to the bank and to the market, and innumerable family huddles and strategizing. Its three thirty in the afternoon - we havent had lunch as yet. A soulful sitar, guitar fusion is playing its own tune downstairs. Mr. Sen called me thrice to say he is waiting at City Center with a friend to snaek a meeting before the formal do tomorrow. I am looking at the watch...ticking. Lunch is yet to be served....
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