POV!

POV: Can Calcutta still hang on to its past………….?

The ghosts of the Raj were never anorexic wraiths. They were as roly poly as the pudding enshrined in those temples to continued colonialism - Calcutta’s clubs. The sun may have set on the empire, no problem…Abdul Bearer would pad up resplendent in cockscomb turban bearing the sundowner and a plate of finger chips. Proper thick — cut wedges straight off the iron karhai . To call them `French fries’ would be to stand in danger of being challenged to an encounter on the duel grounds; your choice of cutlery. Nostalgia feeds off food more than any other sustenance of memory. Brown Sahibs, flotsam of the Raj, knew that they would never feel its absence as long as they could gather in those musty club dining halls, and peruse the smudgily typed menu card on tables covered in damask. Frayed, grey, but as impeccably starched as an upper lip. The `mug’ cook was in the club kitchen; all was well with the world. Calcutta took far longer to lay the ghost of empire, partly because Calcutta took longer with everything. But it was more because colonialism was so deeply entrenched in The Second City of Empire. The leisurely luncheon continued — with cold cuts ( never `starters’), soup ( in plates, never bowls), fish entrée ( with proper fish-knives) , main course, pudding, petit fours, coffee ( in demitasse cups – like the rest of the crockery, bearing the club insignia).

The tradition was reinforced in the chandeliered ballrooms of the Grand, Firpo’s, Spence’s and Great Eastern Hotels. Indeed, the slightly shop-soiled Burra Sahib culture continued into the late 1960s, when it was finally “gheraoed” and superannuated by the satraps of Chairman Mao. Then everything changed, changed utterly, and a terrible “Dal Makkhani” was born. The “bhadralok” were cornered in their crumbling mansions, and the city was seized by the Marwaris, the second syllable pronounced `war’, as in battle. But Mr. Mukerjeah didn’t mind Shri Jalan taking over business so much as he minded Arora-ji “Punjabifying” his club menu. When the baked beans on toast arrived with chopped raw onions, it was the end of civilization as we had known it. The clubs have tried to hang on to some of the repast of the past, but they have seen the future, and it reeks of “pav-bhaji”. Ultimate perfidy, even the Barrister Bongs, those last bastions, are ordering it at the ( still) Royal Calcutta Golf club. To its eternal credit, however, the `Bengal’ still retains a passable version of its fabled steak and kidney pie, serving it to the terminally nostalgic every Friday.

The Christmas turkeys, alas, have had the stuffing knocked out of them. And has anyone even heard of guinea fowl in an age when Burra Din has fallen to bara kabab in a bloodless coup? Clubs have given up the ghost of most Menus past. Where can they find either the makers or takers for their signature dishes? Calcutta Club’s Roast Mutton with mint jelly, Tolly’s goose liver paste ( never pate) on thin buttered toast. You may still get waffles with honey after packing up your irons at the Royal Calcutta Golf Club, but it would be foolish to expect hot buttered scones or clotted cream. Sausage rolls have been ousted by the samosa. The Country Captain Curry which was tucked into during the lunch break of a cricket match has gone the way of flannels and the gentlemen who sported them. Once staples can’t be had for love or any other tender. Roast ox-tongue , leg of lamb embellished with crisp bacon and crowned with a miniature chef’s toque, the chops and cutlets which sustained the “baba-log” at home as did the stews — Irish, mutton ragout and Lancashire hot-pot. The cognoscenti knew that some of these had to come with dumplings, all flour, or with half potato or semolina. The ubiquitous hot- and-sour for today’s chili-coarsened palates have replaced the hearty English soups. Oxtail, pea with sausage, consommé and the Anglo-Indian Mulligatawny or `Dol’ soup. And, is anyone left to sing the requiem of the famous puddings, which surface only in a sad avatar in clubs ( or some last remaining hill-station guest-house)? Tipsy, cabinet, plum with brandy sauce, and the steamed fig, date or ginger, each with its designated anointment. Order ye caramel custard while ye may, “gajar halwa” could set in any day!

(Adapted from an article on the India Times News Network)