If India is a veritable melting pot, then in that pot slowly simmering is a kaali dal. Or a payasam, or a jardaloo ma gosht, maybe it’s a prawn curry, perhaps pasta or stir-fried noodles—any will do, preferably all. But till I secure my plate and my seat, it’s Schrödinger’s Pot. The contents of which remain my largest motivation to tame my hair, look presentable, and venture out to what is likely the third function of that week. And so goes the wedding season in India.
Of the more than 10 million weddings reportedly celebrated in India every year, I somehow manage to claw my way onto the guest list of approximately five to 15, which can mean anywhere from 10 to 45 functions and, I’m happy to report, as many plates.
Some affairs lack innovation with your run-of-the-mill dals, do pyaazas, biryanis and laddoos. But where they lack ingenuity, they usually compensate with artistry. Like the truffle kulcha I recently had an intimate encounter with. Charred to perfection, stuffed with cheese, flaky and drizzled in oil pressed from the fancier cousin of the button mushroom. I was told the genius behind them travels the globe during wedding season. Going from sangeet to sangeet, anointing cheese kulchas with truffle oil—an auspicious occasion for all involved.
My favourite realisation one wedding season was that great comestibles aren’t tainted by less-than-comely relationships. I once assured a flip-flopping bride-to-be that there were plenty of fish in the sea. While I wasn’t thrilled with her settling on this particular tilapia, I was over the moon to find that a few salmon had made it to the grill at her wedding.
There are those who might bemoan the fact that some weddings lack alcohol. But usually the spread will give them a raan for their money. Others will complain that vegetarian weddings lack a certain draw. Those I direct to the dessert counter or, in the case of generational wealth, a dessert room. Yes, room. Straight out of Wonka’s factory and into my belly. Layers of cake, Everest-sized mounds of ladoos and macarons in colours that don’t exist in nature from confectioners yet to make it to Indian shores.
Sometimes I feel age, the weather, and my heels are against me. Raiding buffet after buffet ad nauseam, and I do mean nauseam, can bog you down—just ask my weighing scale. But where else am I to witness an asparagus cradled under a blanket of melted brie? Suhag raat, indeed.
