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Archive for the ‘Family history’ Category

2015 is going to be hard to beat.  In chronological order, I bought a flat, my boyfriend proposed at Easter, we got married three months later, I quit my job, during the summer, we spent seven weeks on the Croatian island of Brac (where Danko grew up), and a week after our return, I started my adventures in freelancing.  2016: you can put your feet up and drink a cup of cocoa.

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Our local beach in Bol, Brac where we spent the summer

I could have written about a lot of these milestones, especially the marriage bit.  I thought, pondered, and racked my brain to say something original about getting married.  Then I gave up.  I could have written about the joy and peace I felt about marrying Danko, my heart quadrupling in size because of it.  I could have written about the simple wedding we threw together at my parents’ home with our nearest and dearest there to celebrate with us.  I could have written about how i cherished being able to wear my mother’s wedding sari, forty-four years after she wore it to marry my father, a stranger to her then, unlike me, who married the person who probably knows me better than I know myself.  I could have written about all these things and more. While all these moments are extraordinary to me, they aren’t what continues to resonate with me six months later.  When someone asks me ‘how’s married life?’, I shrug and smile and reply ‘same same but different’.  The ‘different’ is that my world has become bigger and richer.

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The spread of Croatian/Bosnian and Indian food at our wedding lunch

Getting married to a man from another culture (Danko is half Bosnian, half Croatian), and gaining in-laws give me opportunities to see,  understand and participate in a whole new kaleidoscopic set of traditions and customs.  From different ways of communicating and learning a different history, to (and definately not least), new foods to eat and cook;  2015 has opened up another box of family charms to explore and capture.

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An ordinary lunch in Bol. Fresh sardines, getting ready to meet the grill

I want to start 2016 with a family charm from my Croatian family.  I haven’t heard of a traditional New Year’s Day food in the UK as in all likelihood it consists of bottomless Bloody Mary’s and a full English breakfast to absorb the excesses of new year’s eve festivities.  However, as with Bengalis where food is a constant, Croatians mark the first day of the new year with a feast featuring a whole roast piglet, Russian or beetroot salad, and sarma, stuffed cabbage rolls.

Sarma was one of things Danko was cooking up in the background when we first started skyping, he in Zagreb, me in London.  When I finally tasted the real thing last Easter, lets just say I had another good reason to marry him.  It’s highly unlikely that either he or I will be making this tomorrow, due to said festivities but at least I will know where to begin on the 2nd or maybe the 3rd.

HAPPY NEW YEAR folks!!

Recipe for Sarma

Sarme-Meat-rolls-with-sour-cabbage

 

You’ll find many country variations on how to make sarma, from Turkish, Bulgarian all the way to Central Europe.  This version of sarma blends Bosnian and Dalmatian influences reflecting Danko’s family background.  His family also usually make a big pot of this, and freeze a bunch of it so the following quantities can be reduced if you want to make fewer rolls.

Ingredients for the cabbage rolls:

  • 1 kg ground beef
  • 2.5kg whole head of sauerkraut (you’ll need to use about 15 for the rolls, shred some and keep 3-5 leaves for the broth)
  • 1.5 fistfuls of orzo that has been soaked in water for 2 hours
  • 1 big carrot, finely grated
  • 1 large onion, finely chopped or blitzed in food processor
  • Bunch of parsley, finely chopped
  • Salt and pepper

For the broth

  • 300 g dried, smoked bacon
  • 500g pork ribs (smoked and dried) OR kielbasa sausage will do just fine too
  • Generous squeeze of tomato paste
  • A bit of paprika powder, to your taste
  • Boiling water
  • 4 bay leaves
  • 1tbsp of sage

Method

  • Mix the beef, orzo, carrot, onion, parsley and seasoning together.  Leave for 30 mins
  • Take one leaf of the cabbage head.  Put a heaped table spoon of the meat mixture on the leaf and make a small package.  Tuck the ends in so the mixture is secure.  Repeat for 15-20 rolls.
  • Set aside 3-5 leaves for the broth
  • Shred any remaining leaves
  • In a large pot, put a layer of the shredded sauerkaut
  • Pack the cabbage rolls tightly around the edges of the pot, gradually moving into the centre until the pot is completely filled with the cabbage rolls
  • Place the bacon, ribs (or sausages) over the rolls
  • Squeeze over the tomato paste and sprinkle some paprika
  • Place final layer of sauerkraut leaves over the rolls
  • Pour enough boiling water to cover everything plus another 2 cm
  • Put an upside down plate inside the pot, over the rolls so everything stays in place. Place tight fitting lid over the pot and bring to boil.
  • Once boiling, lower the heat to simmer for about 1 hour

Serve with either mashed or boiled potatoes.

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It would make sense that for my mum’s birthday, especially as this one is her 70th (!!!), this entry would be about her and how awesome she is, what a great role model she is, and how much I love her etc. etc. etc.

IMG_2381But I want to talk about my dad instead and a very sweet tradition he has started for her birthday. He cooks. Ever since he spent a year and a half working in Abu Dhabi where he lived on his own, having had a crash course in cooking from my mother, he regards himself as quite adept in the kitchen. But he saves his culinary skills for this one day.

IMG_2377Before I elaborate on the menu, let me give you a little context on him. My dad is quite the oddball in that he blends a mixture of some old-skool (Indian) views and formality, with new age man stuff. Combine the question he asked me when I showed him my tattoo, ‘how many of your MBA friends have a tattoo?’, (to which I answered I don’t know because I haven’t seen them naked), with him being a pioneering male user of facial moisturiser (he’s been using Oil of Olay since the 90s) and enjoying vacuuming and dusting, hopefully you get the sense that he’s not just a regular Indian dad. So of course he doesn’t just make spag bol or lasagne. Or a chicken curry. He goes ALL OUT. Haute cuisine. But his traditional notions of what haute cuisine means that for the past few years he he makes a starter with lobster because lobster is chef-fy and posh, and a main course of lamb because lamb is Bengali posh. Last year he made lobster bisque and Indian lamb curry. This year he steps it up even further: homemade lobster ravioli and a Mediterranean roast lamb.  Go Baba.

IMG_2384It is a whole day endeavour with planning akin to a military operation. Maa is the sous-chef, gently helping out, sometimes taking over, and generally making sure her kitchen stays intact. Baba waxes lyrical about his ‘technique’ while we giggle and tease. In the end, all’s well that ends well and dinner turns out delicious.   My dad can chalk up another successful foray into gastronomy and proudly slink back into just eating dinner for 364 days.

A family charm for a very special woman. Happy birthday Maa.

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1st October, 1986. A family of four arrive at Stockholm Arlanda airport, at 10am, bleary-eyed, carrying all their important possessions in old hardcase Samsonsite suitcases, about to start their new lives very far away from everything they have known in Bombay, India. Luckily, this deer-in-headlights family was greeted warmly by Alfred, a soon-to-be colleague and dear friend. He drove them to a corporate apartment in Vaxjo, our first home in Stockholm for the next couple of weeks.

For this family, my family, everything about Stockholm was new, weird and intriguing. The air was cold and crisp. Dramatic white barren trees everywhere you turn. Cars bizarrely adhering to road rules. Landing up at the apartment, Alfred had to show my parents how to use the kitchen appliances which then naturally led us to ponder how to fill the empty cupboards and what to eat?? Once again, Alfred went above and beyond and took us to the nearest supermarket, Konsum. The food items were all in Swedish, and so many food items that were ready-prepared or frozen! At that time, this concept had not reached India. One of things that caught my mother’s eye were the frozen meatballs. Poor mans’ food in Sweden apparently but they looked sort of similar to kofte. So along with some other basic food stuffs, my mother bought the ingredients for our very first meal in Sweden – kofte curry using Swedish meatballs.

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It’s now a little family charm that on the 1st October every year, whether together as a family, or in our individual lives, we recreate that evening, where four endearingly naive people huddle around a warming dish that is at once comfortably familiar and yet excitingly different. An ordinary day for many, but a quietly extraordinary day for my family.

Ingredients

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500g meatballs – love or hate Ikea (I’m definitely a lover), its meatballs in the food section are perfect for this dish.
250g small potatoes
500ml water
1 yellow onion, chopped
2 tbsp ginger powder
2 fat cloves of garlic
200g chopped tinned tomatoes
1tbsp cumin
1tsp chilli powder
1 inch of cinnamon
4 cardamom pieces
4 cloves

You can improvise and add some other vegetables such as frozen peas, carrots etc. to add more texture and colour.

Method
• Parboil the potatoes
• While that’s going on, heat oil in a pan. When hot, temper the cinnamon, cardamom and cloves until they start to splutter
• Saute the chopped onions and garlic with the tempered spices
• Add the ground spices (ginger powder, cumin, chilli powder)
• Pour in the chopped tomatoes and simmer until water evaporates a little
• Add the potatoes and meatballs. Mix it all up so everything is coated in the spices
• Add some water
• Season with salt to taste
• Simmer until you get a nice thick gravy

Serve with rice.

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Being a grown up has a lot perks but it can also be shitty, complicated and a bit of a nuisance. When I get into one of these moods where I wish I could stomp around in a tantrum, comfort food from my childhood can often intuitively turn me back into a reasonable adult-like person. The recipe below is for one of my favourites that my mum makes. Chapatis (unleavened Indian flat bread) dipped very generously into ‘gur’ – date palm jaggery which is basically Indian maple syrup. It also is made from sugar cane but date palm is MUCH better. My mum used to make it as a treat for my sister and I when we were little and even now, getting a text from my mum saying ‘I have gur’, makes me reconsider my weekend plans and head home instead. There is something incredibly luxurious and satisfying in dunking pieces of a chapati into a rich, dark, sweet gooiness and then licking my sticky fingers. Back to enjoying the perks of being a grown up.

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For the gur
250g block of date palm gur
3tbsp water
A saucepan for melting the gur

For the chapatis (makes about 8)
300g whole meal wheat flour
100g buckwheat flour
100g spelt flour
2tbsp white flour
2 tsp oil (sunflower, rapeseed etc )
A little cold water to make the dough

Take the block of gur and place in a heated (low heat) saucepan. Add the water and wait for the block to melt. Once it starts to bubble, take it off the heat and allow to cool. The syrup mixture will thicken into a gorgeous molasses-like consistency.

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For the chapatis, mix all the ingredients together until the dough mixture is a little firm, not too wet or dry. Should be easy to roll out. Think play dough. Divide up the dough into eight balls and make into patties. Spread a little flour on the kitchen top before rolling out. The chapatis should be round and about 0.5mm thick. Heat up a flat griddle pan and place a chapati on it. Should take about 3-4 minutes to be dine, flipping a couple of times. And when it starts to fluff up a bit, use a spatula to pay down the edges to more volume.

Serve warm with the gur. Dunk to your heart’s delight.

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'Mahanagar' movie poster

Satyajit Ray’s original artwork for Mahanagar

A few weeks ago, my parents and I went along to watch ‘The Big City’ (Mahangar), a movie by the Bengali film director, Satyajit Ray.  It was being shown at the British Film Institute as part of a full retrospective of his movies.  In a nutshell the movie is about the changing face of India in the 1960s (specifically Calcutta) – for the society, for families and for women.  Although the movie was made more than half a century ago, its themes and messages still burn brightly and made me think about parallels with my family.

Firstly, a quick note on Satyajit Ray.  As one of the two biggest Bengali cultural icons (see here for my thoughts on the other one, Rabrindranath Tagore), his movies are imprinted on the psyche of any Bengali, old and young.  The ‘Apu Trilogy’ is almost akin to required viewing to pass the Bengali 101 class and those who haven’t watched the movies are usually met with an incredulous look that questions the validity of their Bengali creds.  For once, I am a total fan of this particular Bengali icon.  He perfectly captured the nuances of the Bengali character, the movies have international appeal, and above all his cinematic style conveyed the subtleties and flaws of humanity with a whisper instead of megaphone.  Through the little side glances, a change in body language and the minutiae that convey the small crucial decisions of life, his movies seep into your bones unobtrusively.

As for the movie, what really struck me how the story of the central character, Arati is still so relevant to our times.  She starts out as a coy, sweet and diligent wife and daughter-in-law.  Her subsequent subtle transformation into a multi-dimensional woman who forges her own personal identity beyond the confines of the archetype of what a woman/wife/working mother should or should not be is amazing to watch.  What is also pleasing is to see her husband’s gradual (albeit initially begrudging) acceptance and appreciation of his wife as an individual who is his equal.  Given all the current (still!) debate about the role of women, the definition of feminism in India and elsewhere, this story resonated.  It became clear to me that as long as we continue to deify women – especially in India – we will always fall into the trap of using the language of ‘should’ and ‘should not’ for women instead of just seeing us as humans, with flaws and cracks.

So why write about this? It made me incredibly grateful for the women in my family.  While the role of women in Bengali society is chequered (as in most other places), I can honestly say that in the case of my family, I have more examples of women who blaze their own trails than those who do not.  Aunts who are scientists, head up university departments, stay-at-home parents; cousins who are designers, doctors and architects; nieces who are studying what they want to study and have pink hair.  They live inside and outside India, some are mothers, some have never married.  The women in my family do what the hell they want and don’t lose sight of themselves.  They don’t and won’t stop.

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Last week (14/15th April) was Bengali new year (Pohela Boishakh – meaning first month of the Bengali calendar) and it is one of those Bengali events and traditions which I routinely forget about.  It doesn’t help that unlike Chinese New Year in London which regardless of whether you are Chinese or not, is seen everywhere, Bengali New Year is the shy wallflower skulking in the corner at the high school dance.   Apparently the main reason the Bengali calendar (loosely tied to the vedic solar calendar) was created by Mughal Emperor Jalaluddin Muhammad Akbar was because the original lunar calendar conflicted with the harvest seasons, therefore making it difficult for the farmers to pay taxes out of season.   Traditionally it is the time when businesses start new ledgers, new shops open, business relationships are renewed.  So basically, the Bengali new year is really about the start of a new tax year (!) and since it closely follows the UK tax year, I will now have something to remind me that it is coming up.  Hardly an exciting way to remember it but as taxes are unavoidable for most of us, it is a reassuringly predictable reminder.

As I mention in an earlier post here that Bengal is very left-leaning politically and Bengali people haven’t really blazed an entrepreneurial trail.  So the fact that Bengali New Year is connected to business and money strikes me as very funny and ironic.

The new year starts with Sankranti (new year’s eve) which involves a complete spring clean of the house.  I quite like idea of literally starting the new year with a fresh and clean outlook.   Baths are usually taken and then children swallow bitter neem leaves, turmeric and a piece of jaggery.  As neem and turmeric are anti-bacterial, the body also goes through a bit of spring clean.  And new year itself starts at dawn, not midnight.  And yes, included in the festivities and fun, is a liberal scattering of Tagore songs.  For anyone who has read my entry about Tagore, you’ll know what my opinion is on this. Spoiler alert: lets just say when the ladies of the Bengali community (my mum and sis included) have performed at various functions, I have been kindly told to move from the front row to go sit at the back of the audience because my bored facial expression is distracting.

I digress.  We don’t go through all of the above anymore but as with any event like this, food plays a central role. And my family does food really well.   However, since the new year fell on a Monday, we didn’t feast.  Indigestion is a nuisance – more so when you don’t have the weekend to suffer lazily.  But the menu was still a treat: Shorshe Maach (fish marinated in mustard), Shukto (a Bengali preparation of vegetables), both of which I blogged about here and here.  The third dish we had is also a favourite of mine – Shaak – of which the main ingredient is any green leafy vegetable.  Sounds quite dull but not the way my mum cooks it!  It is common to use spinach for this dish but my mum doesn’t like to use spinach as it reminds her too much of the soggy mess dumped on plates in her college hostel!  So one of the ‘charms’ of my family is that my mum cooks it with Swiss chard, having tasted it for the first time when we lived in Sweden.  Less soggy mess, more texture and taste.

IMG_20130421_1Here’s the recipe:

  • 2 bunches of white/ red Swiss Chard or a combination of both
  • 1/2 of a smallish cauliflower, broken into small florets
  • 1 small khol rabi (instead of potato), it is sweet and crunchy), diced into small pieces
  • 1 small aubergine. diced into small pieces
  • A handful of frozen soybean (for higher protein content than green peas)
  • 2 green chillies,
  • 1 tsp of panch phoron (Bengali five spice)

Method

  1. Wash the green leaves thoroughly and drain well.  Chop into approximately 1″ wide pieces.  Do not discard the stems. Cut them finer.   These are crunchy and add texture and taste.
  2. Pre-boil the khol rabi until tender but it should still hold some bite. Drain and keep aside.
  3. Heat 2 tbs oil in a pan.  Brown the diced aubergine but make sure it is still firm.  Keep aside.
  4. Add another tbs oil to the pan.  Add the panch phoron to the pan.  As soon as it starts spluttering add the green chillies and the cauliflower florets.  Stir fry for a couple of minutes.  Add the greens.  Cover it briefly and cook on a high heat to allow the leaves to wilt, probably not more than a couple of minutes.  Remove the lid. Add the remaining vegetables and salt to taste.  Stir to mix.  Cook over high heat until all the water from the leaves has evaporated.  Stir for few more minutes more.  Remove and serve hot with either rice or chapati.

Note:  It is important to cook over high heat and mostly uncovered to avoid an overcooked, soggy mess!!!

Happy new year everyone.   Sort out your taxes!

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So far the family events and stories I have written about in this occasional blog have been set in the past, relying on memories that are not as fresh as they once were. My big sister’s wedding day (13.03.13) deserves to be captured in the moment, the precious observations and thoughts immediately scooped up in Tupperware, ready for the memory fridge. Now each time we open a corner of the box to take a peek, the sight and smell will be as sweet and delicious as when the memories were made.

Partly due to the fact that this wedding started out as a simple registration which then morphed into something else, the short time frame in which to organise it so that Ankur can move to the UK sooner rather than later, and also due to Sohini and Ankur being independent drum marchers, this wedding defies a simple categorisation. It was Indian and thoroughly non-Indian at the same time. There were elements taken from a western wedding, a few token nods to Bengali customs, but also many touches which set it apart from both sides. It was fuss-free and devoid of pomp and ceremony. But like Jane Austen’s stoic characters or in Northern Exposure when Joel leaves for New York, Maggie says “everything I never said” http://bit.ly/WAwEaD, the emotions ran deep in this simple, small but heartfelt Indian wedding.

Being one of the most practical people I know, I wasn’t surprised that Sohini played to her strengths. So she got help with her hair but did her own make up.

 

One of the highlights was when after the registration was complete, my dad said a few words as the father of the bride. While it is becoming more common to incorporate this lovely and moving custom in Indian weddings in US and UK, it is not featured much in India. Now usually when my dad is about to embark on a monologue (most often about the failings of the Indian political system), I half close my eyes in preparation for the cringe moment. I had heard the story before about while he was in Europe for work, he received the telegram ‘mother and baby doing fine’ and how he had to wait three months to bond with Sohini. But I didn’t cringe this time. This time my eyes welled up with tears.  And yes I was the only softie in the room.

The food is a key criteria to ‘rate’ any wedding. It was indeed delicious but the more interesting and quirky element was the ‘Love Food. Hate Waste’ postcards set out on each table. Ankur’s pet peeve is food waste so we decided upon a little behavioural economics experiment by placing these postcards during the moment of eating, hence on the tables. Discrete but visible without being patronising. We are still awaiting the results.

The couple mingling with the guests is a common sight in western weddings but traditionally at Indian weddings the couple are made to sit on thrones while they ‘receive’ guests. Thankfully we dispensed with this silly custom here.  As a result the wedding had a relaxed and informal atmosphere.  Sohini and Ankur had the freedom to properly interact with the guests versus just exchanging 3-second pleasantries and posing for the requisite photo opp during the usual meet n greet conveyor belt.

Finally, a moment for Sohini and Ankur to a) eat something and b) just hang out. The ‘feed each other’ was our suggestion. Such cheese would usually give them indigestion.

No wedding, whether it’s Indian, Christian, Jewish, Italian etc. is complete without photos of the full family and the prom pose of the happy couple. Even independent drum marchers want a way to immortalise the creation of something new for both the couple and the families.

So regardless of the differences and comparisons, in the end it was what all weddings are: an occasion to share and celebrate with the people you care about.

Welcome to the Purkayasthas’ Ankur!

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Eight months after the initial idea was floated by Shikha didi to have a family reunion, it finally took place in Pune on 26th – 30th December.  And what a reunion it was!  Most of the family at the reunion were the Choudhuris (including spouses and kids) while we are Chaudhuris (from Ma’s side of the family), meaning that Shikha et al. are third cousins to didi and I.  For many, third cousins aren’t even considered family.  Well that’s a missed opportunity because in many ways, the Choudhuris are the closest relatives I have outside my immediate family.

It helps to go back a little to understand how the Choudhuris and Chaudhuris are connected in the first place:

  • My Dadu (see Searching for a Bengali Entrepreneur) and Baro dadu (Sajol mama’s baba) were first cousins and grew up together because my great-grandfather took care of Baro dadu, paid for his education etc. after his father died
  • Ma is second cousins with Baro dadu’s children – Sajol mama, Kajol mama and Shukla mashi
  • Didi and I are third cousins to Shaibya, Dibya, Shikha (daughters of Sajol mama and Abhi mami), Rupa and Rahul (daughter and son of Kajol mama and Suman mami), and Sandeep and Bishwadeep (sons of Shukhla mashi)

    Baba, Ma and didi with the Bombay Choudhuris (except for Sajol mama) in Lucknow

Dipu mashi visitng us and Sajol mama, Abha mami and Shikha didi

But really that doesn’t explain much.  It’s just an abbreviated, bulleted version of a family tree.  Our close connection with the Choudhuri’s started when Ma was studying at Lady Brabourne College in Kolkata, and Kajol mama and Suman mami became her second family in an unfamiliar city.  And then, Sajol mama and Abha mami lived in Bombay at the same time my parents did. Abha mami and Ma were pregnant at the same time with Shikha didi and didi respectively.  Then I came along six years later.  Shaibya didi used to babysit me and the others used me as a) a cute toy to play with and b) a target for their teasing.  I have no complaints about this.  As the youngest spoilt brat in that clan, my fate was pretty much sealed when I was born.

Didi and Shikha didi

Shaibya didi teaching me (in the red) and friends a game at my birthday party

In addition to regular family holidays to India when we were younger, my generation is independently continuing to build, grow and evolve the connections.  Facebook has definitely helped because lets be honest, writing emails and letters on a regular basis is a pain.  But a little face time helps too.  I reconnected with Dibya didi and Shikha didi in the US while I was there for my MBA, I got to know Sandeep dada when I visited Dubai with baba when he worked in Abu Dhabi and more recently on my work trips, and became good friends with Teesta while she lived in London for a couple of years.  And judging by the family reunion, I feel pretty confident that the next generation will carry this on.

And so what of the reunion itself?  It was extraordinary to be around these 20+ people over the four days.  Sadly Rahul dada, Bishwadeep dada and Adrit were unable to make it but even still, the sheer number of family members just all hanging out was novel.  It is easy for me to forget the power and comfort of having a large family around.  Moving away 25 years ago to places where there wasn’t much or any family meant that my parents, didi and I became the Formidable Four: us against the world.

Unlike the many Hollywood movies around the same theme, our family reunion had no dramatic revelations of closeted skeletons, no return of the prodigal son, no accidents (apart from a minor vomiting incident from day drinking.  Identities will be protected here but everyone knows who it was 🙂 ), and no melodramatic goodbyes.  We had a fantastic time full of laughs, gossip, and A LOT of food.

The clan having lunch at the vinyard

More catching up over food

But to convey a Walton-like image of our reunion would also be inaccurate.  There also were moments of exasperation, minor tensions and tantrums, logistical challenges, a need for solitude away from the noisy horde and several instances of loud shouting in order to be heard by the hard-of-hearing older bunch which frankly only made us look silly and unhinged and them calm and tranquil.  But that’s what families are. We are rubber bands which stretch due to geographic distance, dysfunction, and squabbles but always spring back into shape and hold together what we value.  In the spectrum of rubber bands, our family is in the middle; in between the brand new ones which take a bit of breaking in to activate the elastic and the older/looser ones which are rubber bands in name only given their elastic capabilities are non-existent and hold nothing together.

Top 3 highlights
– The funny and affectionate toasts given by Kajol mama, Sajol mama, Eugene and Baba during our lunch at a vinyard
– The inter-generational dancing at the reunion finale
– Being serenaded by Rahul’s  (Shikha didi’s hubby) operatic arias
– Taking photos of all the three generations

The elder statespeople

My generation

The upstarts (aka nieces and nephews)

The spouses

Funniest moments
– Tarik effortlessly holding court with four young girls at the vinyard.  See picture below.
– Shaibya didi’s effusive oratory on her love of all things pork
– Feeling like we were going on a school trip in the rickety Tempo bus.  We had it all: the panicked headcounting, the fight for the back seats, getting lost, and the passing of the snacks between the front and back of the bus.  The only thing missing was music. Despite valiant attempts of the driver to have loud Indian filmy music bounce around the bus and in our ears, Rahul vetoed it all which is just as well as otherwise prime gossip time would have been lost.

Tarik the ladies' man

Most over-used comments
– “Family is best consumed in small doses”
– “We won’t have to do this again for at least another [insert number here depending on level of reunion fatigue] years”
– “Where are we?”/ “Where are we going?”/ “What time do we need to be there?”/”What’s the plan for today?” x 5 times per day

Sign me up for the next one please.

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October 14th, 1971.  The year in which two people fresh from an arranged marriage moved to Japan, a strange and beautiful foreign land where they spent a year getting to know this fascinating country as well as each other.

October 14th, 2011.  Forty years later they returned, along with their grown up daughters to knock at the door of old memories as well create new ones.

1971

A young couple

Suvesh was going to embark on a post-doctorate fellowship to do research at the prestigious Tokyo Institute of Technology with Prof. Furuta. We arrived in Tokyo in the late evening at the end of autumn 1971 after a long flight from Kolkata. Fortunately we had two refuelling stops, first in Bangkok and then Hong Kong. The last stretch was longer and except for a pair of companion wing-lights blinking at the tips we were piercing through the darkness until Tokyo’s neon skyline came into view.   One of Prof. Furuta’s student, Ken Tomyama came to receive us at Haneda Airport and brought us to the hotel.  Looking through a window on the 10th floor Tokyo looked like a dazzling fairy land.  The next day, Ken and Professor Furuta took us to the tiny one room flat which became our home for a year.  Our initial reaction was shock.  Just one room!!!  It was a very steep learning curve but surprisingly it did not take long to feel completely at home in our little nest.

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Maa has made 31 paayeshs for me, one on each birthday.  And so yesterday was my 31st.  On the morning of every birthday, she patiently stirs the milk mixture forever (actually it’s probably around 45 mins but this is a very long time to stir continuously, although on a positive note it’s probably really great for toning the arms) to make the sweet and silky paayesh.  Obviously, as fitting for any special occasion, the paayesh does not touch my lips until a small portion of it has been offered to god ( in the form of Ganesh in the photo) and until I shower and say a little prayer myself.  I’m not religious at all but this little ritual provides comfort and balances out the other more hedonistic aspects of birthday festivities.  That minute in front of the offering is a quiet moment in which I can reflect on the past year, give thanks to all the good things in my life, and look forward to next year.  It puts everything in perspective.

Maa’s paayesh has that perfect consistency of being a little less thick than condensed milk.  I find it is so uninspiring and spirit-deflating when the paayesh limply spills over the spoon because it is so thin and watery.  Also importantly, Maa’s paayesh has NO RAISINS.  Nothing against raisins as such but we just don’t like them in the paayesh.  Instead she adds flaked almonds which gives it a lovely and different texture.

Ingredients

  • 2 pints full cream milk
  • 2 tbs rice (in UK, Maa uses Basmati but if back in India, she would have used gobindo bhog rice, which is a short-grained, glutinous rice that cooks quickly and has a creamy quality, perfect for paayesh)
  •  2 tbs sugar
  • 2 tbs palm jaggery
  • Handful of flaked almonds

Method

  1. Put the milk in a saucepan and bring to boil.  Stir continuously
  2. Once brought to the boil, add in the rice (wash it first).  Reduce heat a little and stir until the rice is cooked.  This should take about 20 minutes
  3. When the rice is cooked, include the sugar, jaggery and flaked almonds.  Stir until the water from the sugar and jaggery have evaporated and the milk has thickened to the consistency preferred.
  4. Grate a little nutmeg on top (optional)

Can be served warm or cold

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