The long manila envelope sat on the dining table, peering urgently from among the newspapers. Her mother’s heart leapt with joy as she dried her hands on the kitchen towel and grabbed the letter from the table and stepped out of the verandah. She had recognized the handwriting immediately; the letters from Suman were always incredibly elevating. Wrapping her shawl tight, she settled on a chair with the rosy January sun caressing her back.
Dear Mom,
You won’t believe what happened this new year’s eve!
But let me begin with a novel style of Christmas which we celebrated here. The children and their parents rushed out of the clubhouse to greet Santa Claus. I was amused to see Santa arriving in an Estate tractor, all decked up with streamers and buntings. The love in the air was hyped with red and white décor, the mistletoe, the wreath, the Christmas trees, the stars, the bell all added to the merry spirit. We savoured the fruit cake baked by the ladies. There was a brilliant feeling of togetherness suspended in time.
You know how I have grown to love the quiet life, so close to nature. But I will relish this crazy fun time for long long times to come. What surprised me most that night was Santa calling out my name too while handing out the gifts to the kids. He placed a chit in my palm.
“Congratulations to the newlyweds!” it read. The bada saab and memsaab announced that hosting the new year’s party would be the new bride’s honour.
On the eve of the new year, I chose a lilac silk saree. Remember, the one we had bought for my trousseau? With it, I wore the long danglers that go well with the teardrop bindi on my forehead. I took the word of my mirror and was happy with the attire. The reflection of the clock caught my eye as I realized it was nearing 8’o clock.
I could hear the chattering of the guests rise and fall and every few minutes punctuated with laughter reaching all the way up to my room. Swallowing a nervous knot, I headed towards the middle of the lawn, the damp blades of grass clinging onto the heels of my stilettoes. The ladies sitting around the bonfire ushered me towards them. All of them in their long warm coats and winter wellies exuded such warm confidence! After the initial round of greetings, my eyes searched around for my husband and found him by the bar. Meeting my gaze, he approached me amidst the children running around, cosy in their knitted scarves, mufflers and hats. I admired his blazer and cravat and he too gave me an approving nod and a wink.
When he had told me that everything for the party would be taken care of, I was thrilled with anticipation. The bar, barbeque and bonfire were to be Sanjay’s duty. “All” I was to do was a paneer dish for about forty heads. But Ma, you know me well. I wanted everything to be perfect. Pulling off something of this scale had me a little anxious. But drawing inspiration from you I began the preparations. Sanjay too, comforted me saying we had a trump card – Dharoor Singh, the cook – up our sleeves.
“You just dress up…” he had said. But dressing up here is a challenge in itself, with all the bungalow staff knocking at the door for every decision from napkins to cutlery and crockery. I must credit my dear husband for the ambience of the bungalow, which was eclectic. Tiny light bulbs glowed and the bonfire ablaze in the centre of the lawn was a scene right out of a dream. A few garden umbrellas spruced up the lawn and the latticed bamboo fence where the Sweet Williams had already begun to clamber with delicate purple flowers, made for a perfect backdrop. The yellow and orange flames danced about warming the hands and faces of the guests. Little did they know what had gone on behind the scenes.
Earlier that afternoon, the kitchen had been a nightmare. When I walked in at around 4, the cook was engrossed in roasting pancakes and nothing else had even been started! He told me that he would start preparing the dinner when he was done with the pudding. Though he was an accomplished cook, this seemed like an unnerving situation. The clock was ticking fast. I quickly followed the recipe for the paneer dish given by naani and it turned out well despite the chaotic kitchen. I was on cloud nine, for my first party task had been a success. But seeing that the cook may still take a while to make the triple-layer pancake pudding, I decided to take charge of the chicken dish. I looked at the recipe section of “Women’s-era” for help and it advised pressure cooking the chicken up to a whistle. But after following the recipe, when I opened the lid, I had to hold back my tears. It looked nothing like the picture in the magazine. All that remained were pieces of meat shredded away from their bones which floated around the broth.
It looked unpalatable and I knew I had to do something to fix this. A brilliant idea struck me. I fried the masala and prepared the gravy for it. Placing the bones of chicken on the platter and dressing them with the salvaged pieces of flesh, I poured and spread the gravy over it. Not ideal but ma, there was no time to cook another batch! In the meantime, the cook took over the other dishes. By the time I had managed to put out the fire in the kitchen, I had no time to cool my heels and had to rush to get ready.
When the time came, I mingled with the guests, playing the perfect hostess. The bachelors danced away to the groovy beats while the ladies tapped their feet to the music enjoying their chats in the gazebo. The flawless vibe of the party was accentuated by the tantalizing waft of sizzling mutton barbeque in the air. But this wasn’t the end.
The meat had been marinated for the barbeque in the morning with curd and the masalas. Perhaps it had been overdone. Oblivious to the December chill, the chicken and mutton were hesitant to stick to their bones that evening. The flesh fell off right into the grill. But the guests relished the taste of the smoked mutton! Not just the guests but also the charcoal grill, the few heads we hadn’t taken into account. Sanjay asked for my help – he wanted a couple of the hens I had reared in the backyard, for the barbeque! I was aghast. How could I do this? A poor vegetarian me?! He had put me in a real dilemma. But with a heavy heart, I had to oblige. I bade goodbye to Henry and Molly. I hope they will forgive me.
The party culminated to a sensational one. At the stroke of midnight, a luminous inferno reflected in the eyes of the guests. They were spellbound to the dazzling flamboyance of the fireworks organized by the youngsters of Sankos tea garden.
And the fated chicken dish too, turned out to be a great hit!
Just like the fireworks, making their own statement within the twinkling stars, I too managed to have a small victory that night. It was the perfect way to start this year. Your saying – it is simple to be happy is absolutely true.
I hope you all are doing well.
Happy and prosperous new year 1987 to you, pa and bhai from Sanjay and me!
Lots of love,
From Sumi.
Her mother brushed away a tear from the corner of her eye as she looked up at her husband folding away his newspapers and walking towards her. Misty eyed she reassured him, “Chadda saab, these are tears of joy. She is settled and doing well.”
“And Sumi wishes you a Happy New Year!”
Glossary:
Bada saab & memsaab: Estate manager and his wife
Paneer: Cottage cheese
Naani: Maternal grandmother