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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But 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.
Before 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.
It 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.
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