Shamelessly I requested invited guests...

This weekend I slept with my feet wrapped in hot water bags, thanks to my lineage I am conscious about.

On Friday, I stood for over 7 hours in the kitchen, followed by entertaining guests. But before cracking down, I did stand upright for the record.

After a tiring yet exciting day... one for the album 

"Do you really want to do this?" asked my girl when I requested her to click our pic. 

"It's not everyday I drape a saree and your papa a mundu. Come on, quick." 

"Honestly, mamma. You are so obsessed with yourself," she replied adjusting the lens.

We had our Onam celebration and I was determined to have the banana leaf filled from tip to edge. Managed to layout 18 items for each of the 13 invited guests. Now, that's not a big deal as Onasadhya means the more the merrier.

The problem was that I was on my feet, paranoid, cooking second round of most of the dishes afraid it would not suffice. Pots of rice were boiling even when the guests were at the dining table, which will now last me the whole week after distributing it to my houseboy, car cleaner and watchman.

After cooking, re-cooking, topping up... finally

“Why don’t you sit with the stuff at the building entrance and give it all those who walk in," quipped my in-house grandma, before threatening me, “Don’t give this when I return from school on Sunday. One more day I’ll manage.”

"Well, my dear. I have no intention of dumping these. Why do you think I packed food for the guests when they left..."

"Oh my God, exactly. That was so shameless, honestly mamma... 'take whatever you like'..." she mimicked me.

I blame this paranoia to serve on my genes. My mom’s family are generous servers. You can gather your entire neighbourhood [no exaggeration] and visit any of my maternal aunts unannounced and you will be sumptuously served. In fact, force-fed. For them feeding guests is the way to peoples' hearts. And my mom’s always fed the best to guests, while my brother and I only got the left-overs.

My dad’s family, on the other hand, are stingy givers. My paternal aunts reserved the best for their families and offered the remaining to guests. One day, I saw one of my aunts place a banana bunch comprising over 20 bananas on the table before three guests. “Please take. It’s from our farm.” Neither of them took any. What a trick!

On another occasion, another aunt of mine fed just fish gravy and yoghurt to two guests who had arrived uninvited during lunch hour, saying, “How sad. We just finished lunch and no fish these days. Please manage with this.” One of these guests returned to collect something that she had left behind only to find the family having a lavish lunch, including two varieties of fish!

An acquaintance of mine waits until we take leave and at the door says, "you should have waited for dinner". This has been her staple statement every time I visit. I guess, the fault is mine. Next time I’ll drop in during the day.

I caught another one serve three dates on a plate before a group of five guests, saying "please help yourself". When I gave her the head count, she replied, “others are diabetic”.

I love tracing problems to their roots. So, while my lack of confidence in cooking and kitchen judgement may have resulted in my sore feet, upon peeling the layers I discovered that I'm overtly jittery when it comes to serving guests, only because am petrified lest my lineage force-feeds confused genes into me!

Seriously, am not cooking this up… I was wide wake on Friday night, despite retiring to bed early, wondering how I can make space in the fridge!

Of sarees, women and me

Survived a dampener of a weekend that saw me as usual rev up my hopes to fit the bill, only to unwind wondering when I will at last do it. Rev up the self, all by myself. And let go. Go by myself…to where I always saw myself with a care to the tongues…

All set for the women-only affair

After more than a decade in this glamorous city, I draped the nine yards for a Hindu ritual, and felt honoured to be invited. Felt beautiful, too. A saree makes one feel so! It hides your flaws and moods as well!

But when I soon learnt it was an exclusively all-women evening and bitterly let the better-half wander around, I was once again reminded I am one less on the feminine gene. Like a square peg in the round hole I endured the chatter, banter, howls and squeals of married women until I thanked the host and sneaked out after a respected show of guest etiquette.

Some women never grow up!

There’s nothing a sound sleep can’t fix. But, soon I was again reminded that feminine ego is just one oo..aaw! that can’t be lullabied. I willingly endured more of the I-am-the-best stuff. Everything from kids’ education to TV soaps and how to breathe right, the importance of each topic can be correctly ascertained only by my ilk. Even my man who tires people with his details fails on this count!

Some women never give up!

Well, here I stand after my weekend sucking my toes and nails up until the sole that I feel my feet in my epiglottis.

I am SUFFOCATING!

Every weekend I rev myself up, all by myself. And decide to let go. Go by myself…to where I always saw myself with a care to the tongues…And then…

The week begins, yet again. I survive it the same way yet again.

Bloody, it’s time I grew up and garnered the courage to just give up!

I am a woman, too!

I am SUFFOCATING!

Of a soiled nightie, beef fry and a couple

One of my friend’s from Dubai rang me up while I was in India, earlier this year.  “Hey, even I’m holidaying here. Why don’t we catch up?”

So we took to the lanes of the South Indian state of Kerala, driving north. Monsoon was unleashing its fury. [Yet, I haven’t got enough off it. How I miss The Rains!] 

 

Afternoon 2pm seems like dusk...Monsoon at its best

Well, as we pulled alongside a few hours later, to tend to our grumbling tummies, we ran into one of my acquaintances.

He invited us to his home, which was nearby. I obliged and we followed him.

[I will not describe his home, which I leave to my friend’s comments below. Suffice to say the family was at its hospitable best. Hot-steaming tea, equally deliciously-splattering banana fritters, hot-off-the-grill toast and beef fry and finger-licking melt-in-your mouth dark halwa generously served by his ever-smiling wife peppered with his non-stop chatter. The couple’s two well-behaved pre-teens, did the greetings part with aplomb and vanished leaving their coffee-brown dachshund to keep a watch on us. I always had a liking to the couple. My opinion was only reinforced.]

Well, my friend and her husband also made good guests.

No sooner than the car pulled inside their gate than the couple stepped out and looking up at the roof of the building, said in unison, “Beautiful! Who’s the architect?” The host replied with pride that it was his dad and that the house was almost 30 years old. “Old is gold,” said my friend’s husband.

“What garden!” exclaimed my lady friend turning to her husband, “Look at the variety of crotons. Amazing!” The husband tapping the host’s arm, said, “Excellent, there’s a lot of work that goes into this, I can see!” All the while his eyes were panning the area. “The land adjacent is also yours?” The host nodded a ‘yes’. “And the open area I can see behind?”

Now the host stood to explain. Pointing his finger in all four directions, he said, “From there until there is completely mine. My dad had bought it long back…”

“Wow! You are a billionaire,” exclaimed my lady friend.

In the meanwhile, the host’s wife had joined us and was unsuccessfully trying to invite us in. At last after more statistics gathering and even more exclamations on their property, we walked in.

“Wow! Beautifully done! Teakwood furniture are the best, isn’t it?” The wife commented to the husband and the couple walked around the rooms uninvited. “Real spacious!” “I loved the kitchen… The dining hall is the best…you guys are lucky…” and so went their commentary on the interiors.

“You are an amazing cook!” she showered on the hostess, denying a second helping of the beef fry.

Saying our goodbyes, my friend added, “Let’s take a group picture,” and pulled the hostess by her side. Wrapping her arm around her shoulders she posed.

“So nice, meeting you’ll,” said the husband.

“Come again,” said the hostess.

“Oh! You don’t have to invite us. Next time, we are here, we will make sure we drop in. 

And I need proper meal. You cook so well…”

“…and this ambience. Your home reflects nature’s beauty…” added the husband.

**************

Finally, we proceeded on our journey.

Inside the car:  My lady friend asked her husband, “Why did you eat that beef. It was floating in oil.”

“They would have felt bad…” clarified her husband.

“Don’t forget it’s your body… What kind of people…Oh God! How can they live in such a shabby home…”

“Orthodox. Traditionalists…” added her husband.

“Tell me. What was that odour. Gosh, I couldn’t eat a morsel, seeing her nightie. It had all the masalas that she used for cooking on it…

“Not at all our types…”

“I held my breath while taking the picture beside her…”