Celebration time in a Bengali household is synonymous with food and more food. Festivity and “khabar” go together like a horse and carriage! Be it Durga puja, kali puja, doljatra…the mother of all pet puja time is POILA BAISAKH.
Rabindranath in his full glory by way of poems and songs and dance-dramas makes his entrance, “Esho Hey Baisakh”. Sprinkling of palash phool, sweet smelling belphool, demure ladies in red bordered white/cream sarees, kohl lined eyes ,early morning family rituals, in the backdrop of a freshly painted baisakh morning heralds a day of fun and food.
And what is the flavour….darun rannna, lipsmacking dishes that are the traditional family favourites, which makes one drool till the next poila baisakh, a culinary experience like no other. Even at the age of 60, I still miss those golden days, especially, my mom’s cooked food.
In my house the kitchen and the dining table were always at the core of our “family values”…conversations, dialogues, monologues and vicious arguments..all tempered and spiced and flavoured with the food in front of us. “The home that eats together stays together” being our moral code of conduct! How we all gorged on a day as this.
My Mum like all mums was a super cook. All mothers carry that special brahmastra of love for the family that makes them a force to reckon with and no master chef can rival “mayar-hather-ranna.”
In our household, the day began with early morning ritual bath by all the members, the young ones rebelling against getting under the shower straight hauled out of bed but the attraction of the luchis for breakfast made them cooperative. In all the family consisted of eight members, including my Uncle’s family who came in on such days to share the bounty. After the bath, we collected at the puja room for thanksgiving to the Almighty ….. blessings for a new year. The final blowing of the conch sheel signalled the end of part one… welcome, nomoshkar Baisakh, pronams and blessings, ofcourse all attired in our new clothes.
Part 2 was undoubtedly the main event, walking a path of gastronomical delights throughout the day; a path we loved.
The formalities having been completed, we were all at the table for our first meal of the day. Crisp puffed “luchis“ cooked in pure ghee with a white potato curry with green chillies and a side dish of brinjal fry. Ummmm!!!! We concluded with Amritis (no jalebis today) and a well sounding Burp ..the children competing in fun to make it the loudest.
While the adult men (very clear gender divide) sat and conversed or even took out the little ones into the park outside after this introduction to but of course to build up their appetite for the next meal. The women congregated to chitchat about/around the menu of the day and the detailed preparations agreeing or disagreeing on the spices, the method of cooking, the quantity, who would cook what, etc. F or the next two hours, my mum, the head cook, would supervise the final menu decided on. She of course has definitely the final authority.
The menu on the first day of the New Year, Poila Baisakh would normally be thus.
White rice with ghee.
Thin slivers of pumpkin and parwal lightly sauteed with poppy seeds. Roasted moong dal with fried paneer.
Dahi fish with methi seeds.
Kosha mangso (mutton curry) garnished with dhaniya.
Chicken cooked in coconut milk.
Green mango chutney with dripping sweetness and papor.
The desert was of course bhappa dahi, my mother’s speciality.
Around 2 pm this feast was ready. The Mighty warriors having returned from their outing, sat down to enjoy the bounty. The women waited anxiously to see their reactions.
With joyous anticipation the men and the children readied to fell the food, not a squeak would emerge except for occasional ahaha oh kee-darun. As they licked their fingers dry and their platters squeaky clean, they fell back into their chairs in total exhaustion. The women of the household witnessed this with absolute pleasure and happiness .A deep sense of achievement no doubt…for a job well done.
My mother would finally drive the men away and very soon, the women bunched around the table and partook of the delicious food. Of course, my mother who was the senior most gently nudged more food, more endearments on the other women egging them on. She carried a smile of quiet satisfaction seeing this warm and beautiful scene.
She herself nibbled away, but since she had a sweet tooth, she never deserted the desert in fact that was her weakness and she indulged herself completely.
The end of the meal was marked by betel leaf and more just 40 winks.
After the hullabaloo of the morning a hush descended on the household as everyone but mum retired for a siesta. Mum would quietly supervise the cleaning up, the putting away, more importantly that the helps would receive their share of the goodies along with a new outfit presented to them for the occasion.
After that, it was retirement for her.
But the fun didn’t stop there…evening tea was accompanied with samosa/shingara bought from the neighbourhood Ganguram Sweet shop.
This was followed by a pause for two hours. Dinner menu made was very light…There were light parathas with cholar dal and a light mixed veg curry. But here the final icing on the cake was a creamy rice pudding (payash) made by Mum. No one, just no one could make it like her. Delicately flavoured, creamy and lightly sweet, it was something to die for.
Night descended to allow us some respite…and we had eaten, nay consumed food like there was no tomorrow.
The end of Poila Baisakh for a year.
My Mum and her cooking indeed.
Sweet memories are made of these treasured times of nourishment for the body and soul …it is simply called love.
Visit our page at: www.tribecacare.com.
Call us at: 03340277777 / 8017770323 or email us at: enquiry@newwpsite.tribecacare.com.
