Atithee Devo Bhava

         “What will you have, cold or hot?” only an Indian of Indian origin who has lived in India since childhood will know what this means.     

“Cold-drink” is an Indianism. All non-alcoholic, non-brewed drinks are ‘cold’. You can have a non-refrigerated, without-ice, room-temperature ‘cold-drink’, too. A ‘cold-drink’ has to come out of a sealed bottle or tetra-pack, preferably aerated and with an MNC logo. Freshly-made lemon/ ‘kokum’/’ panha’ juices aren’t authentic. ‘Oos’-juice, ‘lassi’ and coconut-water are also disqualified.

If you say no to the ‘cold-drink’, pat will come the next confrontation: “tea or coffee?” In my world, only the weird and the ill take either without ‘half-milk’ and several spoons of sugar. Brown and sugarless are too five-starish for desi tastes.

         If you say no to all the above, you suffer. “No tea? No coffee? No cold-drink even?” is followed by a wink indicating the discreet but wicked “’daaroo’, eh?”

Say a firm no if you will, but you will not be spared. Hospitality must happen. You are Guest, guest is God. A tray will be thrust into your face, accompanied by someone’s wide, white smile with the words: “I’ve made it, now you’ll have to drink it.”

(In my experience, the ‘it’ is usually ‘hot’.)

         ‘…you’ll-have-to…’ is a killer phrase accompanied by an expression that reads: let’s-see-how-you’ll-not-drink-it-now. I’m a ‘nirlajjam’, hence ‘sadaa-sukhee’. (Loosely translated: the shameless are always happy.) I leave the tea/coffee in its cup, let the ‘malai’ form on it as it cools, let the flies explore thereabout and remind myself that it’s better the host/ess suffers remorse for forcing the beverage on me, than irritate my insides for the next few hours.

         A request of “plain water, normal temperature,” is thwacked by a protesting “you must have something else.”

         Victims of ‘atitithee satkaar’ know how seriously people take hospitality. You might want to finish off a portion of a particularly dislikeable dish served to you at a formal meal in someone’s house. The moment you do that, it gets replenished. You’ve been conditioned to not leave any food on your plate (don’t waste, millions are starving) and don’t want to suffer, either. Dilemma. Been there, done that, at several weddings before the buffets came to the rescue, allowing me to serve myself what and how much I wanted.

         Ah, weddings, the ultimate test of hospitality. If you’re closely related to groom/bride, and you’re in an environment where Tradition Rules, you could suffer from the stuff-syndrome. I’ve seen an extreme case of ‘ladoos’ being forced into a resisting mouth. The man’s tried to push away the perpetrators, but his hands were pinned down and he was sternly told that ‘no’ wasn’t acceptable on such an auspicious occasion. Finally he gagged and threw up. Instant concern was shown, napkins were brought and the mess wiped clean by willing hands. Hospitality showed its kinder face.

         As happened in all old civilizations, in my maternal home, people came when they pleased, had a meal, maybe a snack and tea, several hours of chatting, and sometimes, like in the case of a Lalit-tai, stayed on. Just stayed on. No one asked for how long. Those who came from Goa (we were in Mumbai) or elsewhere, also stayed on but then at least there was a return ticket involved. Tiny flat, school-work, privacy, lack of money, were issues unknown.

         In more recent societies, hospitality is different.

         I’m invited to a well-travelled, lived-abroad person’s place where I’m told: “Want something? It’s all in the fridge/ cupboard/ trolley. Help yourself.” Quandary again. Can I eat that expensive-looking chocolate or not? Entirely? Without offering it around to the others? Is it ok to do that? Does helping myself include frying the fish that’s marinating in a transparent container? If I look around curiously, would that amount to prying? Will I be irritating if I ask these questions to the host/ess?

In this form of hospitality, you are asked just once: “Want something?” A ‘no’ is taken seriously. If you change your mind, you need to express it, however odd you might feel, ‘specially if you belong to Egypt/ Greece/ Africa/ China/ or other parts of the world where hesitating to ask and host/ess insisting on taking more is the norm.

A moderate host/ess these days might say, “I’m making some tea for myself, would you like some, too?” Would be nice if s/he would say “I’m making some biryani, want to stay?” An old-world charm married to practical today attitude.

Hotels take the cue from custom and do “aarti-tikka” to guests on arrival.  Messy stuff, but…

“…Devo bhava.” I’ve noticed how we show our Gods our affection: we smother their idols with fresh, fragrant flowers, create clouds of smoke around them with scented ‘udbattis’ and ‘dhoop’, drench them with sticky milk and honey. Gods don’t mind that display of fondness. Who am I, a mere mortal, to frown on convention?

The next time someone asks me “hot or cold?” I’m going to say, “bring ‘em both”. When in doubt, go traditional.

Feedback: sheelajaywant@yahoo.co.in

        

Goan Guests and Some Things in the Market (Calling People Over For Dinner)

(3 Mar ’13).

            Those from the past, friends and family, who are visiting Goa think that if they’ve come here, they must have a Goanese (yike, that word again) meal. They’re not sure what that means, but they’ve read on the net that prawns balchao, sorpotel, pork vindaloo and fried kalamari are a must. There must be salty breeze to breathe and feni to drink alongside. Unlike in Goa Portuguesa, Mumbai, few restaurants here have floppy-stomached men wearing long-chuddies, flowery shirts and frayed straw-hats plucking on out of tune guitars, singing jaded numbers.

            Friends from Jodhpur who came visiting were surprised that we weren’t interested in living anywhere near the beach. Our little patch of jungle, away from traffic jams and foreign accents, was where Goa really lived, I told them, and we were happy there.

“You always were weird,” their eyes seemed to say. Ignoramus zindabad, I figured, and kept the tongue under tight control. I die to give lectures about the Real Goa whenever I host some people.

            Coming to the other half of today’s topic. I always buy a new indigenously-made (food) product to encourage entrepreneurship. I want to believe that India can grow strawberries and make strawberry jams as good as the ones available in the best stores abroad.  I enjoy the Amul cheeses and gift them proudly to family and friends from across the oceans. What a pity they’ve stopped making that wonderfully versatile and tasty cheese-powder. Trouble is, many of the packaged products are of poor quality. I have no idea whom the manufacturers are trying to fool. I bought a packet of Limbu Pani Masaledar made and marketed by Mumbai’s Neel Beverages Pvt Ltc, which the packet claims is “India’s first in the Premix manufacturing category, an ISO 22000-2005 Certified Co.” I wonder whether the certifiers tasted the product. Or whether they did a survey of the customers. I’m sure they’ve perfectly followed the management procedures and documented every move without error. And the powder that is the outcome of that system tasted … I won’t tell you like what.

In contrast, another new product, called ‘nature-cola health drinks’ which sounded like something made at the back of a garage, manufactured by Team24 Beverages right here in Goa, is something I’d happily serve my guests. (I or my family, descendants, neighbours, etc don’t get a paisa in kind, favour or cash from any manufacturer, factory owner, shop-owner dealer or their relatives. That’s to set the record straight that whatever I’m writing here is objective and impartial.)

The famous paos and pois that we Goans love to feed visitors as ‘our’ bread isn’t always tasty. We may herald the arrival of the poder on his cycle, alerted by his honking outside our gate and rush to buy this ‘really goan’ thing. The experience can be disappointing; few bakeries have maintained their quality.

The balchao and recheado masalas, as well as the chutneys and powders that are sold as ‘home-made’: do the makers actually use them in their own homes? At Sangolda, on CHOGM road, there’s a table where some hard-working women sell ladoos, chaklyo, and other snacks. They sell and make a profit, I’m sure. The buyers are drivers and low-end tourists who aren’t likely to come back ever. I don’t think they’re trying to make a name so that people return just to eat the stuff again. No pride in the product, no name to be gained, no reputation at stake. But surely those who put labels to their product, who have invested in factories, machinery and manpower need to rethink quality? Sometimes I feel allowing the FDI into the country might be a good idea just so we get a feel of competition and improve our products. The debate of how it will affect the poor is a different story.

Coming back to the visitors: most tourists go home happy with the food eaten in the restaurants. But the take-away gifts, other than cashews and daarue, are lousy: the less said about the soaps-on-strings the better. 

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