Ambrosia

High above the sky lies a celestial palace, the size of which is far bigger than the planet we, the people, ever inhabited. This place is also very populous. After all, the people here have to manage all the bodies in the universe and beyond, people of different religions, shapes and sizes. The good part is that even though the so-called living creatures they look after may be at each other’s throats, there exists a very secular atmosphere up here. In fact, you can also call it the highest form of socialism where everyone is an equal, the gods and goddesses, the saints and prophets, all live in harmony, and every day come together once to break bread in a huge hall. As I walked into this hall, I was completely bedazzled with the beauty of the place. For those of us who believed that Vatican Museum and the St. Peter’s Basilica are the most beautifully decorated and magnificent structures on planet earth, this hall is about a hundred times its size. I could see the great masters, hanging in air, painting the unending walls with their palates and brushes and sculpting with chisels and hammers. There was Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, Botticelli and Raphael at work, all making much more beautiful, ornate and sharper paintings and statues than what they had created five hundred years ago. Every day in this dining hall, cuisine of one type is made and gets repeated after all other known varieties have been served. This place is also very democratic, for the times the food variety is laid out here is directly proportional to the number of gods and goddesses of a particular religion. In short, the Indian food gets repeated more than any other variety for reasons known to all…there are more gods worshipped there than the number of people! I had won a bumper lottery ticket in the netherworld which entitled me to one meal in this heavenly place. Having beaten a lot many crooks and fraudsters, I was looking forward to enjoying the meal here and I sure was in luck to be treated to Indian food after ages.

School of Athens by Rafael 

As I walked into the hall, I could hear lovely music being played. My happiness knew no bounds when I heard old Hindi film songs once again…all immortal classics of Mohammad Rafi, Kishore Kumar, Lata Mangeshkar, Mukesh… They even had a radio jockey here, for after every song he would announce in his smooth yet husky voice….Behno aur Bhaiyon yeh agla geet…. One of the high priests sitting there said, while swaying to the lilting sound of Lata, “Good that this new RJ is here. The earlier one was not half as good. He makes the atmosphere of the dining room more serene and food more enjoyable.” Even the Popes and Mullahs agreed and said that they should ask him to play more often even if the Indian food was not being served. I sneaked to the corner where the RJ’s box was and knocked his door. He smiled and opened the door….”Arrey Ameen Sayani ji…. I shouted… since our childhood we have heard you on the radio doing the Binaca Geetmala and our parents had enjoyed tuning into Radio Ceylon for the same. One thing has always intrigued me, why were you doing the Hindi songs from Radio Ceylon and not Aakashvani?”

Ameen smiled and spoke gently, “It was in the early fifties when India had just got its independence. The then Information and Broadcasting Minister B.V.Keskar banned Hindi film music and promoted only classical Indian music. The film producers and record companies who wanted to promote film songs were upset. Using a powerful short-wave transmitter left behind by the Americans in Ceylon, Radio Ceylon started airing programmes to India. Better sense prevailed after a few years and I was back on Aakashvani and Vividh Bharati. Apart from the Geetmala, I enjoyed doing the Bournvita Quiz Contest. The youngsters I encountered there were really bright and I was lucky to have the answers given to me by the programme managers without which I would not have been able to answer even a single question. Now I am happy here. There is no choking of the media here… complete freedom. I now present Prabhuji Geetmala at the real Aakashvani Radio Station where I not only play songs from Hindi films but also classical songs and on special occasions the new age rap and digital music.”

The feast was now about to start and I quickly seated myself near the entrance where I expected to get the first servings of warm and delightful food meant for gods…ambrosia. But I was shocked to see the technological advancement at this place. Food just flew in from all over and settled before each individual. There was no separate section or queue for veg or non-veg, vegan or non-garlic. Here food was termed food and was same for all. There was so much of goodness in every bite and all I had to was just think of a second helping in my mind and my plate and bowls would get replenished on their own without anyone coming with a dirty bucket and an equally greasy ladle to pour you the broth as it was in the world below. Once all the courses were done, everyone stood up and broke into an applause that lasted for more than ten long minutes. It was quite deafening but also a way to express the complete appreciation and acknowledgement that everyone was more than pleased with the food served here that day. I could not agree with them more…. it was like the food I had tasted once in a while in my mumma’s kitchen when I roamed the planet earth. A loud announcement was made, “Let the chefs come and accept our heartfelt congratulations for preparing such a wonderful Indian meal. We also would like them to tell us what they had served and what made these dishes so special.”

Five men gently walked into the hall. One by one, they started talking.

“Sir ji, myself Radheyshyam Misra from Gorakhpur. I made the starters called Gobi Manchurian.”

“Oh, then Misraji, this dish is not actually from India. This must have its origin in the Gobi Desert of Mongolia which is very close to Manchuria in China. It must be the local cuisine of that region.”

“Nahin Sir ji. It is very much Indian. Original Chinese food is bland and lacks any colour. Our dish is different with many spices and looks dark. It is said that in the Cricket Club of India in the 1970s, there was a Chef called Nelson Wang. When a customer requested him to create a new dish from what was available in the kitchen, Wang used chopped garlic, ginger and green chillies and instead of adding garam masala, he put soy sauce and corn starch with the chicken. This became quite a hit everywhere but you must remember a large part of India is vegetarian. So some of us started using the same recipe and in place of the chicken, we put in gobi or cauliflower and to make it even more exotic some added mushroom. We also use MSG or mono-sodium- glutamate and spice was according to the customer’s demand from mild to very hot. Gobi Manchurian is a great starter and at road side eateries, this dish increases the sale of country liquor and beer.

Misra ji the Gobi Manchurian today was excellent but you seem to be a young man. How come you have come to these gates so early?

Sir ji, my food joint was in North Goa in a place called Mapusa. The local civic body there has recently taken a strange call to ban Gobi Manchurian. They say, we are using synthetic colours, sauces of dubious quality and some are also using detergents in the making of this dish. Sir ji, I had a good business at Mapusa but after they enforced the ban, I had no work. I jumped into the sea and came floating here. But I am sad now. I have my wife and three small children in my village in UP. Don’t know how they will manage in my absence.

That is so sad. Don’t worry Radheshyam. We will look into this soon…. Next! Two people walked into the hall, both named Kundal Lal.

“Please don’t be confused. We are not identical twins but our lives then and, even now after our arrival here, are quite intertwined”, said one of them. “Sir, we are Kundan Lal Gujral and Kundan Lal Jaggi and we made for you today, our signature and original dishes of butter chicken and dal makhani.”

KL Gujaral spoke first. “Sir, I had a restaurant in Peshawar, now in Pakistan, where I often faced a typical problem of my barbequed chicken drying out. I started searching for a sauce which could rehydrate them. I, finally, found the solution in ‘makhani’ or ‘butter sauce’. This led to the creation of butter chicken which was made from bits of tandoori chicken and loads of butter sauce.  This became an instant hit with my customers. When I moved to Delhi after partition, my restaurant, called Moti Mahal, was where Indian and global dignitaries would come to and enjoy the food, and butter chicken in particular. Recently, this man, Kundan Lal Jaggi’s grandson, opened a restaurant, once again in Delhi called Daryagunj, and is claiming that his grand-father was the first person to cook butter chicken in his old hotel in the city.”

“Sir, this man is not speaking the truth. I owned a hotel where Gujral and another friend were partners. It was in my hotel that butter chicken and dal makhani were first created and served to customers. I, too, had high and mighty kings and queens and ministers coming to my hotel for food and to them butter chicken meant the food cooked at my place and not at Gujral’s. Now our descendants are locked in a court battle to find the truth.”

“Dear Kundans, firstly, we wish to thank you for serving us such wonderful dishes today. Meanwhile, keeping in view the dispute the two of you are having plus Misra ji’s sad state, I would request our latest luminary guest to step forward and take up these two matters for finding some amicable settlements up here, for we know how long the Indian courts down below will take.”

An old man in suit stood up in the hall and waved to all the attendees. “My Lords, I am Fali Sam Nariman. I was an Indian jurist who held many posts including Additional Solicitor General of India from 1972 but resigned when the Government of India declared a state of Emergency in 1975. I also had the dubious distinction of representing Union Carbide in the infamous Bhopal gas tragedy. Later in life, I was a senior advocate in the Supreme Court of India with specialization in constitutional matters. My son, Rohinton, went on to become a judge in the Supreme Court.”

“Dear Fali, we are indeed very fortunate to have you amongst us. You will be quite busy up here, I can promise you that. Troubles of the planet earth are most pressing and they never seem to agree to anything but we try and find solutions to those unfinished cases here.”

“Next Chef, please!”

“Aadab Meherbaan. I am Imtiaz Qureshi and I cooked the Dum Pukht Biriyani and Dal Bukhara along with Kakori Kebab and Warqi Parantha.”

“You were the toast of the day, Imtiaz Mian. Please do tell us about your dishes a little more and please feel free to make them more often.”

“Huzoor, I started my culinary journey with my uncle at a tender age of nine when he was cooking for a British regiment in colonial India. Later, I joined a catering company which served Indian soldiers during the Indo-China War of 1962. Here I got a chance to serve the then Prime Minister of India, Jawaharlal Nehru, who was so impressed with the food that he recommended me to the Ashok Hotel that was opening at Delhi. Later, after stints at many big hotels in the capital city, I became part of ITC Hotels and ended my career as the Master Chef of their group of hotels. Two restaurants there have been named after my signature dishes, Dum Pukht and Bukhara.”

“Sir, I continued the Awadhi cooking tradition of my family. Dum Pukht, which translates to ‘choking off the steam’ was a method of slow cooking. Meat and vegetables are partially cooked and placed in a cauldron and sealed with a ring of atta (flour). The food then cooks in its own juices and steam, retaining the flavor of the ingredients. Simultaneously, burning coal is placed on the lid, allowing the food to be heated from the top and bottom. All my life, I have not used any measuring instruments. I have always relied on my andaaz (instinct) and measured ingredients by my palm.”

“Subhaanallah Imtiaz Mian. You are a great addition to his family and a jewel in our kitchen. Now can we have the last man who made the sweet dish.”

“I am Bhim Chandra Nag from Kolkata. Sir, the dish I prepared today is called Ledikeni. The sweet had its origin when I made it to commemorate the arrival of Lady Canning, the wife of the then Governor General of India, Lord Charles Canning to Kolkata sometime around the 1850s. Lady canning grew very fond of this sweet and would often call for it on all special occasions held at the palace. Soon the dessert became popular with the local population who started referring to it as Ledikeni.”

“The dish tasted fantastic but looked quite funny.”

“Sir, do not go by the look. In Bengal, we have many varieties of sweets. I shall make one a day and never repeat any of the sweets. Actually, I wanted to make the famous Rosogolla but then much water has flown down the Hooghly and Mahanadi rivers over its origin and then Nariman ji here is already very busy with so many food cases that I decided not to add to his work. There is no controversy over the origin of the sweet dish I made today. Lady Canning is happy and so are the Lords here today.”

“Thank you Nag Babu. Good to have you here as well. The best part is that the ailment, called diabetes, arising from Bengali sweets is something we do not have to ever worry about here. So, you are most welcome to feed us with your choicest sweet dishes at any time.”

I could not believe my eyes and luck. First it was Ameen Sayani and then the makers of butter chicken, dal makhani, dum pukht biryani, ledikeni and also Fali Nariman, a man who was awarded Padma Bhushan and Padma Vibhushan by the Government of India. I will definitely ask Fali Sir to fight my wrongful confinement to the hell below. My case was not heard properly and I shall ask him to file a plaint for reopening my case. I belong here… this is my rightful place. It will be one hell of a case and Fali will not Fail me.

Picture courtesy: Internet

SS