The Recipe Book

The recipes have been such an integral part of tea life since time immemorial for the tea memsahibs. I wonder if handwritten recipes still hold such importance in today’s times with access to websites and online content. In those days whenever we would get together, we would be discussing and exchanging recipes.

This dates back to almost four decades ago when my husband had his first acting stint in one of the Dooars gardens where we moved into the Manager’s bungalow and came across the talented cook also known as bada bawarchi of the bungalow. He was an exceptional old cook, akin to a successful tight rope walker with the courage to go out on a limb, with an impeccable sense of balance. One and all had tasted his magical meringues which would melt in the mouth. So now I wanted to learn how to cook and bake like him and had asked him many a times to let me know his little secrets while cooking or baking.

This grand old man owned a tattered old diary with a hardbound maroon cover with all the recipes. He treasured this more than his life. It would always be locked away in one of the kitchen drawers. He refused to share the recipes with anyone. In fact, he even stated that all his prized recipes would go with him to his grave. Nothing at all would make him part with his recipes, so much so that at times he would come to the bungalow kitchen to bake the goodies even in the wee hours of the morning so that his recipes remain safe with him. The kitchen was almost out of bounds for all the other bungalow staff when he would take charge.

As time passed the grey-haired bespectacled man clung to the security of the kitchen though now he wanted to share his responsibilities with the second in command. One afternoon the overseas guests were expected and he was ordered to make his magical meringue with lemon curd filling. While we left him to his task and waited patiently in the jaali karma, his helper sneakily entered and informed us that this bada bawarchi was about to use Nirma washing powder instead of custard powder!

This seemed to be too absurd an idea even for this eccentric cook. So we asked him if his recipe book actually stated washing powder?! He had a sad look on his face and he confessed that his eyesight was no longer what it used to be. His retirement was due within a month or so, however, the baked goodies continued to be served to us with just a magical stroke or two of his ladle. Unfortunately, his health deteriorated as he parted with his ladle and the warmth and security of his kitchen.

Few months passed by and one afternoon his daughter was standing at the kitchen door with sombre eyes informing that her father was no more and his last wish was to be buried with his prized recipe book and his bamboo ladle. I asked the bearer to hand over these things to the bada bawarchi’s daughter. The bearer rummaged through the drawer and got out the book and with a hangdog expression gave it to me. With a lump in my throat and misty eyes, I flicked through the recipe book. There were many recipes written in different languages, some neat and some scribbled in haste. The daughter took the book with shivering hands and stoic expression, stating that her father’s soul would now rest in peace.

Though all of us were dismayed by this loss, the bada bawarchi lived on in our memories as did the whiff of his baked goodies.