..force feeding. Have you any idea how torturous it can be? You’d probably have experienced once around your wedding when laddoos were shoved in your mouth, and all you could do was shut up and swallow it, when all you actually wanted to do was throw up on their faces. But those are rare moments, and you let them just be, because it was your marriage after all. A little bit of holding back your volatile emotions is always called for in such times. (How else will you prove you are a good bahu?)
But what I experienced this time around my trip to India, was horrifying. I am a self confessed foodie and you guys know it. I cook an awful lot, and eat it too. And as if that was not enough I have a complete blog dedicated to it. But that does not by any means indicate that I can wake up to having Koraishutir Kochuris (a deep fried bread stuffed with peas) every goddamn morning for brekky.
Its insane! And why, why why do people assume that I am shy? Do I look it? Also when I say, ‘na na please aar paarbo na’, (no, no I can’t have any more), does it sound like ‘ hyaan hyan aaro dao’ (yes yes, bring it on)?! No offence to all my loving relatives back home, who only just wanted to show their love. That showing love and stuffing your guests are synonymous, I had forgotten. They wanted to do just about everything and bring on plate every possible edible item they thought their, Jamai or Bou must have, because they were visiting for the very first time.
How sweet, said my heart. How acidic, said my Oesophagus. Believe you me, each time any of my relatives opened their mouths to talk to us, an edible item was dropped like an atom bomb on the conversation. For instance, while we were having a perfectly normal conversation about our lives in general- aar kee bol, Sydney kemon laagche? (So tell us, how do you find Sydney?) ---And before either of us could reply, they continue with---Aai shon, Toder oikhane Singara pawajaye? Hyan re jilipi khabi, Nondolaal theke mishti aanabo? Kee khabi bol? (hey listen do you get Samosas there? You want to taste our Jalebi? Should we get some sweets for your from Nandolal? Just say what you want to have).
That’s it- before you protest, they have vanished into thin air, to go bring home more sweets to entertain their guests. Even when they spoke to Mishmash, the context was always laced with food. Aai Meeshu..eeesh kee roga bachcha ta re. Rosogolla khabi? Aaaaye !!babyr jonnye mishti niye aaye toh! Oh ma khabe na bolche…oo mishti bhalo lage na? Nimki khabi ? aaye nimki niye aaye babyr jonye. (Hey meeshu, poor child how thin you look . would you like some Rasgullas? hey get some Rasgulla for the kid…ooh you don’t want them? Then have something savoury…hey…). But Mishmash got lucky, coz she asked for chocolates each time they asked what she wanted to eat. And she got it!
And it went on and on and on. I thought all my relatives, spent 3/4th of their time making, fetching, talking food. And the remaining 1/4, we ate. By the 6th day R was so sick, he had to take a flight out. My adorable Aie (grandma) was really upset. Of course she was sad that her Jamai had left earlier than scheduled, but she was sadder because he had left without tasting the specially ordered ‘rabdi’ .
Don’t get me wrong at all. I love eating. But when you only see, smell, walk, talk, hear food- and food that you don’t want to eat, it gets agonizing. And what’s with bhaat/rice??? Is the quantity of rice you consume directly proportional to the amount you love your maternal aunt? Very very stressful, all this food linked with love business. OH, i forget Maach/fish. Should you ALWAYS exclaim- OH MA! MAAACH KHAYENA MEYE TA, EEEESHHHHH! (Oh Lord! This girl doesn’t like fish!).
One evening we came back late after gorging on oily rolls, chaat, and a ton of street food. I was reeking of food. We got home and all I had on my mind was hitting the bed and popping Zantac. But the moment we entered, we were greeted by eager uncles and aunts telling us that they’d been waiting for us for the dreaded D word- DINNER!. Erm, excuse me, but what was that I just had 1/2 an hour back? My aunt and grandma would continue to coax me into trying all the ‘specially made for you’ dishes , this, that…blah bleu bleh…!
That was the night R had that absolutely side-splitting dream- he saw my aunts holding giant size plates loaded with sweets, dhokla, Luchi, and assorted food, shoving them into his face, and their words echoed- ‘ei nao mishti khao, ei nao dhokla khao, arre nao nao, aar ektu bhaat nao’ !! He woke up palpitating, sweaty and very very nauseous. Needless to add he ran straight out to the toilet..
And rest as they say and GoIndigo knows, is history.
Khai Khai Koro Kano, Esho Bosho Aha Re.
(The evening R left amid chaos and sheer madness, because he needed ‘urgent medical care’ which neither Cuttack nor my Doctor relative could provide him (what a firang, this man, man), I called on him the hundredth time in the evening to ask on his health. I heard a lot of background noise…i asked him where he was. SHOPPING AT HYDERABAD CENTRAL, he said.)
