I have just returned from a typical Tam-Brahm wedding where we were served fusion food. Or should that be confusion food? No, that’s being mean. Because I witnessed national integration and international brotherhood through food, and this must be lauded.
Our dinner was served on banana leaves. Admittedly it was only a banana leaf pattern printed on unbreakable Melamine plates, but what an idea, we exclaimed, rushing off towards a vast food court of several colourful tents, with waiters in pointy hats and curious kimono-like costumes.
Soon I was nearly singing ‘Mile Sur Mera Tumara’ as I saw India coming together on my plate. My favourite puliyodharey (Tamarind rice) was doused with Punjabi paneer butter masala ; my hot chapati had a coconutty Kerala erissery as partner. The Gujarati meethi kadhi ran right into my Bengali aloo posto — perhaps the creation of a brilliant new recipe. My Andhra pessaratu was flirting with a blob of Maharashtrian shrikhand , ‘for touchings’ as we say. Then world cuisine beckoned. Chinese noodles filled my plate. Should I dart back to the third tent to put some curds over it, like SRK did in Ra One ?
A round of applause distracted us. Here comes the bride! Resplendent in a shimmering pink ghagra-choli , with her husband Sambandamurthy in a red and gold sherwani and a Rajasthani prince-like turban too… All hail Karan Johar’s contribution to new-age South Indian weddings! How happily the bride beamed, looking like a Kareena rather than a Karpagam.
Appropriately, the gastronomical version of Chetan Bhagat’s 2 States was still the top favourite. Tamil-Punjabi combos ruled. Idli-sambar ? Not any more. In weddings, idlis go with gupta curry. No, that isn’t a royal recipe from the Gupta dynasty, but ‘ kofta curry’. (Note: in Tamil Nadu we happily turn all ka phonetics to ga, and fa to pa)
Meanwhile, my cousin Raju waved excitedly from another tent. “This agrata goes so well with mini dosas ,” he declared. Agrata? I wondered, as baked vegetables in white sauce were thumped all over my crisp dosa . In my second gulp I got it. “Au gratin”. Only a Tamilian tongue can mangle French. What next, I wondered. Was there a Korean Kurry Korner somewhere, what with Chennai flooded by car-making Koreans these days?
I suddenly realised I’d completely missed the central salads tent. Our food cravings had distracted us from food carvings, which small children were admiring with glee. Popular goddesses sculpted out of carrots stood serenely on lotuses, or rather artistically cut water melons. Boiled potatoes with beady lentil eyes stared at us in the form of a mouse, perhaps the only trace of non-vegetarian in this wedding. But it was a sacred mouse, as it was sitting next to our ever-favourite Ganesha, a work of art made entirely with coloured pasta and glue. I finally understood the expression ‘holy macaroni’.
Salads in exotic dressings soon jostled for space on my plate of international abundance. I would be the first one on the dance floor to compensate for the over-eating, I decided, when the music changed from Balamurali’s veena to Honey Singh’s naarth-Indian rap, as which Southie wedding is complete these days without even giggling elderly mamis and genial thathas not doing the punzaabee bhangra ?
Yet our feasting was far from done. An excited father of the bride, looking dapper in his Modi-fied jacket over his silk dhoti, urged us all not to miss another buffet — of sweetmeats. Not to worry; just as there is no horse in horseradish, there is no meat in sweetmeats; this being a Tam-Brahm wedding and all. In fact we were assured that the array of fancy cakes was all yegg-less. “And please do partake some rubbery…” urged my host. Mercifully it was very soft and not rubbery at all, and I think I quite overdid the rabri .
Next month, my niece Sushila is getting married. I jokingly suggested to her parents… as a novelty, why not serve ‘sushi’ for starters — in its pure vegetarian form of course. I’m afraid they’ve taken me seriously. And found the perfect Japanese chef in town for the event.
indubee8@yahoo.co.in
