Sangeet -2

Sangeet -1. Sirf pikchur hi kaafi hai...courtesy Rbit da

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.

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....

Of beautiful women

The entire day was spent being "beautified" - read held hostage by the beauty parlor for a good four hours as they went about their regime of cleansing, sprucing, fluffing, massaging, filing, shearing, sculpting. And the first facial of my life. Someone asked me - so how was it? I replied that I felt tired, from lying around and being pampered too much! Definitely not used to it. But as the bride to be- one has to go through such customs. Soumik quipped whether they had managed to give me a brand new skin! I do hear that he too had to make the customary visit to the barber's shop to be suitably "groom-ed". hehehe!

Girls just want to have fun

Last night I was crowned, toasted and given a chocolate cake facial by some of the most beautiful women in and out of town at a fabulous hen party that had mother-hen donning a santa hat and jiving to "hips dont lie". Friends I had made over the years living in far corners of the globe were in town to throw me a night filled with much laughter, dancing, drinking and nostalgia. Ria and Piu, the two sisters and the official hostesses greeted me at the door looking like elves. Ria is in Kolkata for a year, having flown down from London, to work with Save the Children in Kolkata. Piu is down from Spain, along with her friend Eva. I have known them since I was seven years old (Ria hadnt been born then!!!) and Piu is my original partner in crime in the tiny island of Brunei, terrorising the other Indian kids. We fondly remembered those days when she and I would spend hours at end at each others house devising plots to create some "trouble", in our jammies. Marilyn, my "American mom" - who is also here for the wedding surprised me with her jhatak matak moves and her tolerance for the excellent capirinhas that Piu had concocted for the evening. The evening soon saw us breaking out into maddening Govinda ishtyle dance moves - change a light bulb, tap that cigarette, shake that hip, fly that kite, tap the biri....cues for the choreographed dance around the table as a bunch of girls, dressed to kill , giggled and laughed and shimmied all over the floor. Simi , my buddy from school arrived almost straight from the airport in a dare bare ensemble and led the dancers with her wild (read raunchy) moves. Riya my friend since my college days in Kolkata did Bollywood proud with all sorts of gyrations and thrusts possible by the human body. Angie, another partner in crime from our 6 months of living and working togerther in Bombay got down and dirty on the dance floor too as we recalled of moments grooving at the Hawaiian Shack and being hauled up by the HR department for our "wild parties" in the company apartment! Snigdha another dear friend from my college days let her hair down too to shake a leg with the motley assortment of gal pals. The final entrant was mother -hen at twelve in the night , dressed in a hat and carrying a box of chocolates. She was immediately swept onto the dance floor as she and Marilyn gave the younger girls a complex with their moves. Th night came to an end with much cake smearing. The cake aptly said:" Goodbye Miss - Welcome Mrs. Sen" ...hehehe! What a night! (Hopefully being Mrs Sen doesnt change much of the "girls just want to have fun"- the theme song for the night). Wistful? Just a tad!

...it's almost here

Mithu had her bachelorette yesterday. It was rocking I'm told and my shashuri too let her hair down. Wonder if there are any blackmail-able pictures clicked...
Raveena dropped in town, and then whizzed off, before complaining about the terrible road trip to Ranaghat from airport which took double the time, than it should have......
mamunidi is down in the city. Pun intended. And has been battling virus and schedule and buy me a gift...
Meanwhile at home, the ball begins to roll.
A blue drape atop bamboo has started adorning the courtyard. The pandal for the biye and my dad gleefully puts on Bismillah in 5.1. malkauns is a sad raag, so is Gujri Todi..but then again...
With melodies such as these used to sound off celebrations, i'm actually looking forward to jeetu-Mithun-Bapi medley promised for tomorrow's sangeet and some surprises.
Meanwhile my mom and her sis - the granny of my niece, indulged in some "what if"s and "I'm telling you" and "listen to me"s till wee hours of the night.
Didn't really think that Saans-bahu sagas could be this interesting that it'd force me to eavesdrop.
The saga i reckon will have a reprise soon enough.
The moot point of discussion was - that no matter that my cousin has braved -35 temps at Siachen and shot and killed infiltrators, when it comes to homeland security, he is very much someone who is led by the high command. So to compensate having gone out with groom to watch Avatar, he decided to make amends. Took out ailing daughter and grumpy wife to Paa.
And I don't know if it was the impact of the film or the force fed popcorn ('shower down affection' taken a bit 2 seriously) that resulted in the eventual avalanche of electrol, lomotil, and puffed rice...and roshogolla too!

Mithu was probably on her 6th drink at her bachelorette by then.
Meanwhile dadu and dhruti's elaborate train plans have been foiled. They were wait-listed and then derailed. So will eventually fly in to be amidst the party that I'm sure will go past the mom-in-law asserted deadline.
And I am still looking out for ways to escape the din at home. Seems unlikely. As post noon today Sehwag promises to give dada gurudakshina at the garden of Eden.
One last tryst with the remote and a swig before the phuchka wallah before tomorrow kicks off in my stomach.
And I'm being told I have lost weight. Ha!
parents i tell you!

the players

The last two days have been a whirlwind. Our wedding menus have been predecided, but when I asked Ma where i cud find it decipherable, she handed me a page which had amongst other things scribbles and crossouts in various hues of dot-pen-ink blue. So the listing of the menu is on its way as soon as the encrypter gets his job done.
Meanwhile, the Bombay brigade is here. To be precise A310 Adarsh. That is how i recollect everybody - MOta, Chumki, Mac, Soibal, Rumki...though dadu-dhruti, rahul-jini and Ronnie are on their way..
A310 adarsh was where i was acquainted with Mota's haraami questions, Dadu's idiosyncratic quasi-bohemianism and Mac's snore-decibel.
The last came back to haunt me as i shared bedroom space with the man with the last laugh this side of Writer's building. Aftre an evening of TMC and CPM bashing, and theories on how CPM will be back in power on the able foresight of Nirupam Sen, and watching a mindless episode of dadagiri, interspursed with Chumki's "he's so cute" directed NOT at Dada but at Borda - Khandada, we settled in.
I couldn't find a cab back home at 12 30 am (early by Mumbai standards) and was glad that I could go back to the effervescent adda that followed one of the best mutton curries of the season and fish, that brought out the energizer avatar of Mac babu.
However, the memories of such pleasurable and deep rooted discussions such as plans to perturb my single malt loving father in law, and get a bride to be for Mac, were drowned at roughly around 3 am, on the winter night.
Mac was in slumber-plumber mode.
he was sleeping, but inducing the sound that could rival any plumbing operation in the ocncrete square foot of detroit.
I thought of various things
1. record the snore as a ringtone, for Mac's prospective would be-s
2. Go across to the living room and prefer to be SnM-d by Salt Lake mosquitoes
3. Chuck a hard object at him
I did the thord. But the hardest object i could find merely tossed him aside and on a different scale he encored.

"karvaten badaltrey rahen saari raat hum..aap ki kasam"

And then when morning came, i reached home to find my cousin from the army- badsha (Major Chiranjeev das) his wife grete me with "so were you at your friend's place or 'girl' friend's place? hehehehehe"
I snigered. Briefly.
For i was soon attacked by my standard two niece - Riya, who had answers to everything, and questions about everything. When all i wanted was TO SLEEP.
And then when i did wake up, the battle for the remote began - a battle between Nick, Cartoon Network and Pogo facing off with neo sports and ESPN.
And while it's great fun, giving value systems of other people'skids a complete U-turn, such activities take a backseat, when Sehwag is in full flow or bathroom is occupied.
Final respite came last evening when groom and bride took the evening off to resort to the ultimate soothener for the Bong spirit - the Mutton biryani.
And now, i am being phoned urgently to stop typing and "GET YOUR ASS BACK HOME"...
So...

The subtle politics of a wedding menu

Vegetarians are an afterthought in the Bengali wedding menu discussion. The discussions so far have revolved around a heated battle between fish and meat - one or two of each? Fried, gravy, steam or dry? Mustard seasoning or curd marinated? Age and gender play a major role here I realized, with elder males (with a record of uric acid and other lifestyle ailment afflictions) dominating the discussion with nostalgic memories of "kosha mangsho" cooked in pure ghee and topped with garam masala. Fish being the more delicate of the two featured amongst the female relatives eyes glistening with fond memories of weddings and gatherings in a bygone era when grandmothers took the lead in supervising the cooking and relatives helped out in serving the hot food on banana leaves. There is an audible disdain for "outside catering" in the air - "not quite authentic" is the claim as elderly relatives amble their way into the recesses of their memories. Amidst the heated debate, the weak voices of the sole champions for the vegetarian fare get royally snubbed, ignored and often ridiculed. The menu after many iterations, debates and three rounds of pre-tasting was finally approved and signed off. The rest is now in the able hands of 6 Ballygunj Place. I do not doubt however, that the bride and the groom will hardly be tasting any of the sumptuous feast after having fasted the entire day! Food will be the last thought on our minds.

Just about a week back, I was trudging amidst a fierce snow blizzard, feet numb from the subzero temperatures and back sore from the weight of 35 undergrad final semester answer scripts, back in Chicago. I literally had cold feet and butterflies in my stomach thinking about the wedding in three weeks. I heard my heart go thumpity thump at the airport as the blizzard raged on threatening to ground the very flight I would board for Mumbai!!

Yesterday I found myself lost in another world - standing in front of a musty, dusty , dingy shop filled with bright little things, swatting mosquitoes, jostling a crowd of buyers, and ignoring the steady trickle of sweat down the nape of my neck as an ancient grime covered green plastic fan whirred against the sticky Kolkata air, quite valiantly. My mother and I were buying the traditional "topor and shinthi" - ridiculous Bengali wedding headgear. Purbo banga na pashchim banga? - we were asked. How did it mattter? Apparently a lot. With much glee the elderly shop keeper with the proverbial "monkey tupi", dressed in dhuti and sleevelees brown sweater, thick glass frames that enlarged his pupils to frightening proportions, took it upon himself to educate these obviously novice modaaarn women about the manifold marriage customs of Bengal. It would have been a prolonged session unless my mother had sweetly interjected to enquire about the price, which had its desired effect of at once offending the old man and stopping the unsolicited sermon. We left him grumbling to himself, with a bagful of assorted colorful things that we would need for the ceremonies, smiling like kids in a candy store.

The phones since then have been ringing endlessly. People have been dropping in "un"invited incessantly. Long forgotten acquaintances have been knocking on the door, paying "surprise" visits, having smelt a marriage menu in the air. Mother has become pretty adept at handling these situations. In the end, the guests leave usually leave without the much sought for wedding invite.

Mr Sen and I sms each other with regular hourly updates about the madness in each household. "Stingy relatives...damn". " Brother's flight from London got cancelled, what will happen now?". " Can we meet for a movie, love?" "Tough, what's happening on the Sangeet menu front?" " Why is everyone smiling funnily at me?" " Why do all or most of my friends have kids, which means I have to invite them as well?" " I am tired of small talk and silly jokes and the friendly jibes" " I am tired of making silly trays of sarees and dhutis and bedsheets and towels- what a waste of paper". " let's run away". " Mumbai was so much more peaceful".

Come to think of it, Mumbai was a whirlwind of socializing and partying. But Mr. Sen already has done a wonderful job of describing the gastronomical adventures we had lived through without a single gelusil. Ten days to the wedding now. I am slowly begining to absorb the enormity of the event. The tremendous and painstaking planning that has gone into it right from the wedding trosseau, to the venu, menu, wedding cards and invitations. The tensions in the air. The underlying emotions of parents and wellwishers as they get together to celebrate a marriage. I feel well and truly spoilt. A tad nervous. Very excited. Overfed. Much loved.

The Mumbai pre-burps and now...

It was a trilogy over on less than 24 hours. Dinner-Lunch-Dinner. And
Romidi and Gaurav da's post biryani spread was spectacular. Eight donuts from the Mad Over house were chakravyu-ed around us and initially i did think that G's threat "now you have to use your left toe and pop each donut in" was real.
Winter catch or hamstring pull could be detrimental in Kolkata winters especially this one. But thankfully while Miss Mahim Causeway (this lady always prefers to come from Andheri to Bandra via the causeway hence the name) and the GnR couple let it pass.
And then barely did we manage to trudge out of the left sideof the bed, the lunch was a pilgrimage that one had to make.
Rahul, Kalyan and their respective better halves were all set for the newly opened mainland Chiona at Linkin's but providence had other plans. A sunday narration after, we all trooped in to the temple of gastro-bandra - Global Fusion and all pudin haras and ilk were mowed down by the avalanches of sushi, sashimi, strirfried and baked crabs...
Only the desert counter was bereft of choolate icecream by the time we managed to amble across to Baskin.
A rather befitting Aii buro lunch paying homage to the superhero of Gastro land in Mumbai.
And just when we thought we'd take it easy, Madhumita (Bubli) brought out bronze ware and the head of a giant Rui (which can easily be used in the Jaws renake!). traditional to the core, where a married lady friend - Sohini - having tricked her little one to slumber came out to do the duties, while her husband was left shedding copious tears as Arsenal trhrashed Liverpool at Anfield.
Maacher maatha-Kaashar Thalaa and Liver pool. Maach-Maati-Maanush.
Didi would be proud.

And now, we are in Kolkata.
And loittey maach at inlaws followed by aunts and uncles jibes has started. But what better way to start a luke-cold Kolkata morning than see Sehwag blast away.
The missus on the other hand is busy grading her students amidst constant phones ringing. But more importantly i hear preps are on for item numbers to usher in Krishtodeb. From Taa Thaiyya to Bidi...it should be fun.
And i guess my pa-in-law is already going through hidden attic corners to hide his malts away.

p.s.: For all those from the girl's side who want the bride to type in too..maybe the pleas need to get a bit louder..

Aeeeeee buro bhaat

Aii buro at 34 is not a novelty anymore, or as my parents led me to believe since i touched 30 that it would be a futile event. So i did cross that line. (What to do Mithu wasn't in my life pre 30.) However, it is a fact that appetite does diminish and not necessarily at 30. By that logic I should have had my aii buro bhaat at 16. When 30 luchis or two whole tandoori chickens were child's play. However, invitations have poured in - Riya and her darling mom started the proceedings with shutki, mutton, tubful of choco chip icecream and maach. Now Mota and Jini's mom has so endearingly called me to inform that my next stop of this gastronomic Rajosuo yagna is South City Mall. And then Romi di, my disciple.

Incidentally Mithu's mom, mashima - the Tagore fanatic and Mrs Chintamani - worrying is her favourite past time (I'm her jamai can you blame her?) - has threatened Mithu that if her clothes donot fit, she will not be excused from the toe touching Olympiad.

Scary thought. And maybe she and I need to watch it.

And then one gchat message later - we ponder - this weekend - should we be at Global F or the Raan rice at Persian Durbar - or Puro - or Five - or will we have a chance at all?

However, i strongly believe that the house that has gelusil and pudin hara and fresh lime juice is immune to such non-Bengali worries.

When liberalisation happened why didn't Bongs try and export their digestive systems and the art of heavy eating and lazing to micro-appetite rest of india? (ps. however we shouldn't forget our parsi brothers and sisters.)

But these are the happy pointers. Now imagine what happens when relatives jostle. And aunts that aren't very good at the ladel( to put it mildly) charge out with triple exclamation marks in their dilated pupils "EMAA!! ETO KOM NICHCHO KENO???BESHI KORE KHAOO!!!" While the uncle through the nose bridge reading glasses will keep all "KI DAAM!!!" memories at jogu babur bajar within and instead respond with a placid "BOMBAYTE NISHCHOI BHALO MAACH PAWA JAYE NA?"

I also wouldn't be surprised at category 2. Where while you have just sunk your teeth into the juicy chunk of a goat's thigh, a voice sideblurbs in "AJKE SHOKALER PAATHA 160 taka KILO"

Compensated by a patronising smile that sermonises about "KINTU KI DAARUN PIECE".

Which brings to the conclusion that even in a recessionary year some goats are better off than others.

I'm sure the real deal is more promising. But that starts, in around a week i guess.

Till then I should eat less. (sorry not happening. A birthday invite from the Goretti-Warsi house tonite.)

Exercise more. (Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!) Sorry.

Or maybe pray for one round of loose motions. (I'm a Bong But in winter months, I'm told even that is a hard bargain.

Damn.

Prelude to the Circus

Kolkata winter and the conch shells sound

To celebrate the fructification of love - found

Amidst the real and the virtual and prose and rhyme

So we all jostle in to behold the time

When topor and shaari and relatives' ador

Will bring out gu-marano smiles and the forbidden chador

So let dhuti kachaas fall and ilish bones smirk

As dushtu projapoti gets down to work!

;)