While a lot of India is quarrelling viciously over cultural heritage and eating habits, I am happy to say I have just witnessed a great national integration movement at a gala dinner hosted to celebrate the modern Tamil wedding of my nephew Raju.
On my large plastic plate, eco-friendly because it had a green banana leaf design, Tamil Nadu’s lemon rice mixed willingly with Punjab’s methi matar malai; Gujarat’s khandvi got on famously with Kerala’s kadala curry, while Andhra’s gutti venkaya koora blended in harmony with a Bengali luchi. And then a ladleful of Thai green curry spread about — metaphorically spreading world peace perhaps — and added a new twist to both the French spinach quiche and the Italian lasagne (spelt Keesh and Lasanya on placards near the dish).
Hurrying excitedly from one canopied food tent to another, I bumped into my beaming uncle, Venkatesh mama, unrecognisable in his red Rajasthani pagadi. “Enjoying- aa ? Don’t forget to have the Swedish bebinca from Gova!” he said. The average Indian may have assumed the delicacy was made of guavas, but I immediately understood that he meant a dish from Goa.
Bhindi manchurian
But I was a long way from desserts yet. I jostled with eager guests to different tents where about a hundred servers wearing pointy green hats looked like Santa’s little helpers doing post-retirement jobs. A handful of slithery noodles came next — scooped with hands (plastic-gloved, thank god) in great speed from the vessel on to each plate.
Now if you know your Bollywood trivia, you’ll recall that a certain SRK unhesitatingly mixed curd with his noodles to show what a typical Madrasi he was in the film Ra One . But I was too sophisticated to make such a gaffe. (Though I must secretly admit the dahi-wale bhindi that suddenly doused the noodles did make it more palatable.)
Only two more tents to go! I completed my Bharat Yatra and then realised there was a whole salad section. And there I saw him sitting solemnly — a unique table centrepiece — Ganesha made up entirely of penne pasta glued together very artistically. Holy macaroni, I exclaimed.
With so much fusion confusion, it helped that the dishes were labelled meticulously. In the Delhi tent, I was intrigued by ‘Sholay Bhaturay’ (perhaps a favourite of Gabbar Singh that I’d forgotten from the movie?).
Square rasagulla, round bowl
Tempting as it was, I decided to give the live chaat station a miss. Who knows if I may find rasam inside the gol gappas? Attacking my heavily laden plate, now a mass of indistinguishable colours and tastes but strangely quite satisfying, I was fortified for the near riot-like situation near the desserts.
And there I stood open-mouthed for a whole minute — not to accommodate the innovative, square rasagulla, tricoloured like our beloved flag — but to stare in wonder at the bride, resplendent in Rajasthani costume, ingeniously copied from Bollywood by Tailor Thangavelu of Kodambakkam to make her look like a legendary Indian queen.
My nephew Raju was a perfect match in shimmering jodhpurs and sherwani. But not one person shouted, “Why is he looking like Raja Ratan Singh? Why not dress like Rajaraja Chola?” For which we must thank Karan Johar for making us Tamilians embrace North Indian traditions so joyfully.
Meanwhile, everybody broke into applause and exclaimed “Padmavati!” even though the bride’s actual name was Ambujakshi. My dear Venkatesh mama adjusted his magnificent red turban and beamed with joy. “Everybody is saying I am looking just like the old man from the MDH Masala ad, correct, no?” he said.
By now, we were in yet another long queue to collect the traditional South Indian return gift of a coconut, but what a surprise. Inside a golden bag printed with pictures of the bride and groom and a witty line everybody appreciated: ‘Thank you for your presence and presents’, we found instead a coconut-shaped memento studded with mirrors. No garden variety coconut at this wedding.
And so I staggered out, over-fed, but not before one more choice confronted me: “South Indian beeda or North Indian meetha paan, ma’am?”
I took both.
Indu Balachandran travels for food, and is a frequent flier to weddings everywhere.
